One Blind and One Mouse
by Crutcherella Wormwood
Summary: Russell Woodspeck is the most composed boy in his school. But a cat, a chess game, and a building fire later, his whole life is flipped around. The next thing he knows, he's at a Lodging House in Manhattan with nothing but the fond memory of his unlikely best friend - The street mouse that he abandoned. (Strike in Smalls' & Specs' POV. OC involved in a subplot. WiP. Please R&R!)
1. Prologue

**_Prologue_**

_Lazily scuffing his father's rust-brown boots against the burning hot pavement, eleven-year-old Russell Woodspeck straggled past all the bustling, chattering children exiting the dull schoolhouse and spilling out onto the streets. Some were headed to the deli, books wrapped in string carelessly swinging beside them, loose change jingling happily in their pockets. Some were noisily making a beeline for the park with balls, hoops, and sticks to play with their friends. But Russell wasn't going anywhere special with anyone else. He didn't really have very many classmates that would he would call a "friend," though he was generally admired for his grades, will to help in any way possible, and manners (mostly by teachers). He didn't really mind that he didn't fit into a clique. He preferred to keep to himself than to be associated with the clamorous boys who always sat at the back of the classroom. Just the tight group of three quiet boys he stayed around at lunch was good enough for him. He was a soft spoken boy of somewhat stocky stature, with curly, blonde hair and pale skin. That day, he wore a white, neat, collared shirt and brand new brown pants. For him, the journey was straight home; just him and his small stack of textbooks, wandering down the lively, loud sidewalks of the Bronx._

_A substantial contributor to the volume, of course, was the familiar, constant headline-hawking of newsboys. There were some newsgirls too, here and there, but they were definitely outnumbered. Russell's parents had long ago taught him to not yield to the strangers. With their entire faces stained with dark grime, their old, unwashed clothes, and their voices strained with a sharper, more nasal variation of the accent of the city, who would even want to approach them? _

_That's at least what ran through Russell's head as he passed a blonde, freckled newsgirl shouting something about Roosevelt's government rise, her hair sloppily tucked into her tan cap. He couldn't help but wonder, probably for the millionth time this school year, what sort of tragedy would have to happen to a kid before they have to start selling newspapers for a living. Well, "papes," as they often called them._

_"Tuesday pape, hot off the press! Catch it here for jus' a penny!"_

_Everything seemed just as it always was for Russell that day. The doors of various antique shops on his daily route home rung out a jaunty chorus of bells as customers hurried in and out. The sky was clear. The bright sun shone radiantly through the normal city smog. Russell placed a single hand over the top frame border of his glasses accordingly. He was eighty percent sure that without the thick, round, spectacles, nobody would be able to identify him in a classroom. Or any other room, for that matter. He had to wear the things everywhere he went, because without them, he was almost legally blind. He didn't really care much, but he promised himself since he was seven that he would grow up to invent an alternative to the clunky things. And childhood dreams like that don't just die off._

_He pondered on the aspiration a bit on his slow walk home, past the back of the strip of restaurants that lined the adjacent street, fiddling with the side of his glasses._

_Out of seemingly nowhere, he heard the eardrum-bursting sound of an animal's yowl. A scrawny ginger cat came scampering between Russell's legs, sending him into what could've been cardiac arrest. He stumbled and stopped in his path, bent slightly over, catching his breath, as he watched the stray cat skid into an empty alleyway just ahead. It screeched at the top of its lungs. Then came Russell's second startle._

_"Hey!" He heard a high-pitched voice call. "Get back here!"_

_Russell twisted around to see a girl running frantically to catch up to the cat. She was petite – probably below five feet – but something told the boy that she way his age. She wore a plaid shirt with a few crookedly closed buttons and patched slacks, improper clothing for even the poorest newsgirl. _

_Before Russell could dodge her, she blew right past him, arms swinging loosely as she sprinted past. His curiosity eventually got the best of him as he watched the girl stand at the mouth of the alley ahead and call for the cat. Though every good instinct ever set in him told him to avoid the ratty girl, maybe he could help her get her pet back._

_He slowly approached the girl from behind. Over her shoulder, he saw the kitten standing stubbornly in the middle of the trash-littered alley, setting down food that it had in its mouth and making to munch away at it._

_"Oh no you don't, you stupid feline! You come right back here!" She scolded, throwing out an accusing finger. She still had noticed the observant Russell's presence. The cat stood its ground, arching its back and releasing an annoyed hiss. Russell snapped a few times to catch its attention, and then tried whistling. The girl was obviously frightened, as she didn't see him before, and turned around in a split second. "What do you think you're-"_

_She stopped. Russell was crouched now, still whistling and beckoning to the cat. After a moment or two of hesitation, the cat made a few inquisitive steps towards him. The girl noticed that it abandoned the food and patted Russell's back, crouching beside him._

_"It's workin'!" She whispered. "Keep doin' whatever you're doin'!"_

_Russell looked up at her, to ensure that the complete stranger was talking to him. Her bright, excited, almost feral green eyes locked with his and lingered for a moment. He took her in for a second. Her reddish-brown choppy brown hair was straight yet frizzy at shoulder height. She had a round, slightly upturned nose on her small face. Kind of like a rodent, but on her, it was kind of cute._

_Russell remembered he had abandoned his task and quickly returned to the cat. It cautiously stalked over, almost one toe at a time._

_"Aw, you're a blusher, ain't you?" The girl laughed a bit. Russell's hand immediately shot up to his face and realized it was probably fire red. Before he could respond, the cat was at his feet, glaring, as if to say, "Yeah, Russell, tell her how much of a softie you are."_

_"Cats. So vengeful, yet so easily distracted," The girl reflected, dashing out into the alley where the food was left. She picked it up. It was half of a meat sandwich on wheat. She began peeling off the brown crusts that the cat had held in its mouth._

_"I… Don't understand," Russell said, stepping forward. "I thought this was your cat."_

_"Finally, the mysterious whistler speaks," the girl mock-announced, walking back over to him. "Nah, but this is my dinner. Paid a full five cents for it, darn it, and that fur ball thinks it can take it from me." She took a nibble out of the sandwich. "Say, how do you do that anyhow?"_

_"Do what?" Russell nervously asked._

_"The whistle thing. I've never known anybody who could do that." She took another hearty bite of ham._

_"It's not really that hard, I mean…erm…" Russell wasn't sure how to explain it, but the short girl looked up at him with huge, expectant eyes, totally silent, waiting for his instruction. "You sort of put your lips in a circle, and softly blow through." He demonstrated once more, whistling out a quick measure of the national anthem. The girl nodded._

_"Okay, okay, I think I got it," she said quickly. "So… Like this?" She squinted her eyes, puckered her lips out far and blew, but her tongue stuck out, so she ended up blowing a very loud raspberry, sending the cat skidding away with fear. Russell tried to refrain from laughing, as it would be rude, but it did no good, and an obvious chuckle slipped out. It became contagious, and soon the girl was laughing too. "You're alright." She looked at her dirty sandwich, all she really had, and held it out to him. "Wanna bite?"_

_"Ah, I'm fine, thanks," Russell replied in the most polite tone he could manage. The girl shrugged._

_"Well, ya wanna go down to the park or somethin'?" She asked._

_Russell was at a loss for words for a second, a strange, unfamiliar rush bolting through him. He was almost never asked to hang around with anyone at the park, and… Wait a minute… "I gotta get home to my mom and pop. Besides, how do you know it's okay with your folks?"_

_"Don't hafta check. I don't…" She hesitated a bit. "My folks don't care too much about that kind of stuff."_

_Russell couldn't really imagine a set of parents that different than his over-sheltering ones._

_"I really wish ya could stay. We could make a great team. I mean…we're pals now, right?" The girl continued._

_Russell was a bit surprised by the term being used by (first of all, a girl, and second of all) someone he just met. "You mean you want to be my friend?"_

_"Why not?" She asked, cocking her head to the side casually. "You helped me get my dinner back, we laughed, we cried… This is how those things work!"_

_"Okay." Russell then awkwardly stuck out a hand. "Pals."_

_The girl slapped his hand and violently shook it, a seven-mile grin on her face. She swallowed her last mouthful of bread before saying, "I guess I'll catch ya later, Specs. When you don't gotta go so quick. Then we can hang around some more. Maybe tomorrow?"_

_"Specs?" Russell asked her. She smirked._

_"It's 'cuz of those funny glasses ya got there," she explained. Russell self-consciously pushed them up on the bridge of his nose._

_"My name's Russell," he simply answered._

_"Russell, huh? Sounds so formal," she commented, placing a hand on her hip. "Mine's just Lauren." She fake gagged. "I hate it. It doesn't fit me at all. There's too many Laurens in the world, and they all sound too boring."_

_"I think it's a pretty nice name," Russell said, loosening up a little._

_The girl - well, Lauren - dropped her arms and clasped her dangling hands in front of her. "Thanks, I guess."_

_"I really have to be headed home," Russell said. Though he seriously doubted it and wasn't sure at all whether or not he actually wanted to see the girl again, he added, "Maybe we'll meet again after school one day."_

_"Sure. I'd like that," Lauren replied as Russell began walking away. "See ya later, Specs!"_

_…_

_Three more days had passed and Russell hasn't seen the chatty girl again. Finally, it was Friday. His parents had given him money to spend down at Louie's, the local deli, with some of his friends after school. As always, he didn't plan on going with anyone else, but didn't want to tell his folks that their child was such a loner. As the wooden doors of the schoolhouse flung open that afternoon, the cool autumn air and pure sunlight washed over the buzzing stampede of children. Russell, the precocious and somewhat pretentious boy that he was, couldn't stand the unstable noise levels and frantic energy for another minute. Soon the crowd dispersed, and he was back in the calming, quiet rhythm of the jingling bells of shop doors and the clopping of carriages as they rolled by. Then all of a sudden…_

_"Psst." Russell heard a voice whisper. He couldn't tell where it came from, but he decided to keep walking, maybe a little quicker._

_"Psst!" He heard it hiss again. "Hey, you!"_

_He started to feel panic churning in his stomach. They're not looking for him, are they?_

_Then, a raspberry followed. "Pbbt!"_

_Russell identified the voice immediately. A hand tapped his right shoulder. He whirled around to see the ratty girl standing at his left. She was wearing the exact same clothes she wore three days ago. "Hey again!"_

_"Hey," Russell mumbled. "How'd you find me?"_

_"Y'know, I was just walkin' around the street, maybe lookin' for a cent or two for a bite to eat. And then, here ya are!" She exclaimed, absolutely ecstatic. Russell felt like he had to shield his eyes from the enthusiasm that radiated off of her, like it was a blinding light. He was too worn down from the day at school even come remotely close to mirroring it._

_"So, you free for a while?" Lauren asked. Russell plunged his hand into his pocket, feeling the small lump of nickels his mother sent him with. Maybe some company at Louie's wouldn't be so bad, and would perhaps get the girl off of his case._

_"I was just heading down to the deli. Want to join me? I'll pay." He asked. Lauren nodded her head vigorously._

_"Of course!"_

_When they came into the old, family-run shop, its namesake's 19-year-old son, Junior, waved them over from the other side of the glossy wooden bar. His parents and Russell's were friends, so the two knew each other well. A couple teenagers sat up on barstools. Of course, alcohol wasn't served until six, so there was no problem with them being there. Russell climbed up onto a seat and gestured for Lauren to follow, which she did._

_"What can I get you today?" Junior asked, sliding over to face the two children. Russell turned to Lauren._

_"Want to split a pastrami on rye?" He asked._

_"That sounds great," Lauren replied. And then, Junior was off giving the order to the kitchen. "You're the best, Specs. Thanks a ton. I honestly couldn't afford somethin' like this myself."_

_Russell took his eyes away from the clock he had absently fixed his gaze on. He knew this girl was obviously from a lower class family, but it still came as a bit of a surprise. Best not make her feel bad about it, but once again, the sway of curiosity was stronger than his will to exhibit manners. The words "Can't afford a sandwich?" Fell out of he mouth before he could think._

_Lauren looked like she immediately regretted her prior statement. "I said that out loud, didn't I?" She winced at her own stupidity. Then she looked at Russell and started to stutter with an explanation. "I, uh… Well, my folks, they haven't… I mean, we…"_

_Though it didn't seem too likely to him that parents would just let their kid go hungry, he had clearly made the girl upset, and he realized he shouldn't pry any more._

_He left it at "You're welcome."_

_Lauren propped her elbows up on the bar and rested her chin in a hand. Her eyes fixed on a nearby cork coaster. "What are your folks like?"_

_"They're okay," Russell replied. "A little overprotective. They worry 'bout everything. I can't stand it sometimes."_

_"But they care about you a lot," Lauren assumed, not looking up._

_"Yeah," then, after a moment: "Yeah, I guess they do. They just have a funny way of showing it."_

_A half-smile slithered onto Lauren's face, as if she had known the feeling. Just then, a widely grinning Junior returned from the kitchen with two glasses of water and the sandwich with a sour pickle on the side. Russell picked up one half of the sandwich and Lauren picked up the other. They tapped them together in a mock toast. Even when he began eating, Lauren was tentative, mostly picking tiny pieces off of the crust and chewing slowly. Russell knew something was wrong, considering how she wolfed down food the day they met._

_"Are you okay?" He asked. Lauren dropped the sandwich back on the plate, set her hands on the edge of the bar, and exhaled deeply._

_"All right, here goes…" She began. She tried to make direct eye contact but ended up squeezing her eyes shut, as if it were painful to tell him. "I don't got folks. I've been at an orphanage since I was eight, and it closed when it couldn't get funded. I got shoved back out onto the street just five days ago because I refused to get moved to a dingy old dump of a lodging house somewhere else." Then, she opened an eye to take a peek at Russell's reaction, and then the other. He sat in silence, giving her an unreadable stare. "P-please don't let that scare ya away. All the people I've met the past few days get lost after they realize I'm some homeless gutter girl, and I guess I don't blame ya if you feel the same, but I just wanted to get it off of-"_

_Russell leaned over the gap between the barstools and wrapped his arms tightly around her. She stopped talking immediately. After a second or two of feeling confused, she accepted the warm embrace and wrapped her arms back around him._

_"I'm so sorry," Russell said quietly, "That you had to go through all that."_

_Lauren could hardly believe what she was hearing. Nobody had ever tried to comfort her about her loss of a home. Not the shop owners who shooed her away, claiming she was a filthy street rat and was up to no good. Not the motel owners who declined her meek offerings of the few pennies she had in her pocket for a room for the night. Not even the other kids at the orphanage, since they were all stuck with the same old "dead mom" sob story. And now she was getting sympathy from this boy. Dragging her arms away, she was at a complete loss for words, except "I do okay." Then after another hesitant picked bite of bread: "So… you really don't mind that I'm, ya know…"_

_"Of course I don't mind," he answered. "I mean…we're pals, right?"_

_She smiled softly once more. "Right."_

_Russell swallowed another mouthful before she spoke up again. "Hey, Specs,"_

_"Hmm?"_

_She looked at her sandwich quizzically. "Where does pastrami come from?"_

_"Romania," he replied. "Fun fact I learned in school last week. It's kinda like corn beef, 'cuz it doesn't go bad quick."_

_"I could do without the social studies lesson, Teacher," she shot back jokingly. "I mean what kinda meat?"_

_"Oh. Whoops." Russell let out a bit of a chuckle, followed by a short raspberry, spiting his own foolishness. "Pbbt. Uh, I think it's beef."_

_Lauren held a napkin to her face to keep herself from making a scene from laughing too hard. "It's fun to do, right?"_

_"I guess it kinda is," Russell allowed, hesitant to show bad manners but agreeing by sticking his tongue out again. "I think I prefer it to actual whistling."_

_Lauren shot a raspberry back. "Pbbt."_

_"Pbbt!"_

_"Pbbbbt!"_

_"Pbbbbt!"_

_"Pbbbbbbbbt!"_

_"Pbbt! Pbbt! Pbbt!"_

_"Would you kids shut up?" A grumpy, large, middle aged man in a bowler hat a few seats down the bar asked. _

_Russell's eyes went straight to the floor and he pretended he hasn't spoken a word. Lauren followed. But after a few seconds, when the old man had returned his attention to his coffee mug, the two children looked back up at each other._

_"Pbt," Russell finished quietly._

_…_

_Almost every day after school since then, Russell had told his parents he was at a classmate's house, and he and Lauren would hang around the streets of the Bronx. Whether it was to get a bite to eat or to practice shooting empty bottles with Lauren's prized possession, her slingshot, they would always meet as soon as the bell rung. _

_This had went on for at least a month or so, and for the first time since his early childhood, Russell had someone he could depend on, someone to cheer him up when he was down, and someone he could really talk to. And with out realizing it, Lauren had finally found who she thought of as the only person in the world who gave a damn about her hardships and stuck by her through it all. He had even saved up and surprised her with some of his afternoon money from his parents to get some new clothes, after she proclaimed that all she had from the orphanage was "the rags on my back, the quarters in my pocket, and the charm in my eyes," with a joking flip of her hair. She paid him back, of course, with accompaniment on numerous adventures around the city. For once, the two had discovered a true friend._

_"I don't get it," Lauren pondered, squinting her eyes at the chessboard Russell had brought from home that day. "So, if this midget can jump the big guy…"_

_"That's a pawn," Russell corrected. "And that's a king." He sat next to her on the concrete steps of the schoolhouse, positioned on the other side of the board._

_"Potato-potahto," Lauren said with a passive gesture. "First of all, ain't he just a peasant? Secondly, why doesn't midget get the crown when he takes down the ruler? Ain't that what they do in checkers?"_

_"I don't know," Russell shrugged. "I mean, if I were going to take down the president, I'd at least do it to take power myself. Put in some new laws I've been wanting to make."_

_"What kinda laws we talkin'?" Lauren asked. "The benefit of mankind or somethin' that'll actually work?"_

_"I'd say free school for everyone," he put out as an example. Then he pointed to the board. "And every kid born for at least the next decade has to be taught how to play chess before they turn four."_

_"You really love this stinkin' game, don't ya?"_

_"It's my favorite. It really makes you think. I've beaten all my teachers during free period."_

_Lauren applauded and imitated a booming announcer voice. "Russell Woodspeck, King of Chess, everybody! First he dominates the classroom…"_

_"And next, the world!" Russell ended dramatically._

_"'Oh my goodness!'" Lauren squeaked, holding up the queen figurines and making them talk. "He's so handsome! Marry me, Prince of Board Games!" Russell was the first to crack up, quickly followed by the girl._

_"Russell?" The boy turned at the sound of his name. The huge grin wiped off of his face when he saw it was his silver-haired teacher, Miss Rose, standing in the wooden doorway of the schoolhouse with a solemn look on her face._

_"Miss Rose," he acknowledged, standing up and walking towards her. "What is it?"_

_"I just received word that there was a fire that broke out at the police station. You father was on duty, and your mother was visiting." _

_She paused for a moment. Russell stood completely silent, terrified about what she must be implying. Then, it came, with a hold on his shoulder and a painful glance. _

_"I'm so sorry, Russell, but your parents have passed away."_

_"No." That's all that came to the boy's mind. He stepped back, shaking the teacher's hand off of his shoulder. "They… they can't be."_

_"Russell, I can't begin to imagine what you must be going through emotionally. Your parents were truly-"_

_"They are!" He claimed. "Present tense. My pop… My pop woulda gotten out of there."_

_Through the quickly-rising wall of water in his eyes, he saw Miss Rose just shake her head._

_"I'll give you all the time you want to grieve, but tonight, you need to pack your things from home and move to the nearest orphanage. It's not too far away - Brooklyn, actually. They'll treat you well there, I promise, and we can have a nice ceremony for your-"_

_Russell couldn't take it. He just couldn't. Here Miss Rose was, trying to breeze over it, and he couldn't be any more devastated._

_"I'm not going to Brooklyn," he said. "I'm not an orphan."_

_"Now, Russell…"_

_He turned and hurried down the front steps of the school, two at a time, and flew out onto the street._

_"Specs!" He heard Lauren call. "Specs, where ya going?"_

_In all complete honesty, he didn't know. He just knew he had to get away._

_Maybe part of him thought that if her ran fast enough, he could catch up to his parents._

_He zigzagged past families, couples, and children clogging the sidewalks of the shopping centre. With the blind feeling of needing to outrun something, he looked for somewhere to hide out. Anywhere. He needed to be alone._

_Parked by the side of the road was a black, closed, and very large carriage. No horses stood at the ready, and neither did any passengers. Assuming it would be abandoned for a while, he slammed open the loudly creaking door, leaped up into the cabin, and swung it closed behind him. The plush interior theme was mostly cream-colored, and lacy-curtained windows lined each wall._

_He sat in a seat and heaved for a long time, a single hand on his face, catching the hot tears that seeped out. His parents were dead. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He could never go back home, what was Miss Rose thinking? He didn't want to live there. But even more so, he didn't want to be sent to Brooklyn. That would only mean that he accepted that the only two figures in his life who supported him through everything were killed in that fire._

_Just then, from outside the carriage, he heard a muffled scream of "Specs!"_

_Russell drew back a curtain and hazarded a peek out the window. The third figure was looking for him. Her eyes locked with his through the window. She ran up to it and banged on it a few times. "Whaddya doin' in there?"_

_He closed the curtains and turned his back to the window, which only made the jumpy girl sprint for the door, throw it open, and leap in with him, making the car bounce a little. "What's gotten into ya? I mean, I've done some pretty stupid stuff since I got the orphanage boot, but hidin' in an unattended carriage? What got your undergarments in such a bunch, Specs?"_

_"Stop. Just leave me alone," he snapped, crossing his arms._

_"What is this about? Your grades? Your chess game? Your-" she stopped, and quieted down, realizing the cause of the behavior. "Somethin' about your folks?"_

_Russell looked up at her and nodded his head. "They're gone," he choked out. "Happy?"_

_"Russell, I-" her mind was too fuddled with all the stupid and insensitive remarks that could come out of her mouth, she couldn't think of anything right to say. She barely had memory of her own parents._

_"They wanna take me to the Brooklyn orphanage," he explained, uncrossing his arms and setting them beside him. "I-" His voice cracked. "I ain't going." _

_Though now obviously wouldn't be the time to comment on his adoption of city slang in leu of his school-enforced English grammar, she couldn't help but notice it._

_"So you's running away?" Lauren asked. A leftover tear rolled down from under his fogged glasses. He swallowed hard._

_"Yep," he answered, taking the glasses off and wiping out the water with the bottom of his shirt. He re-donned them and set his hands back down. "But I'm going alone. That's the whole point. So you need to leave."_

_"Are you kiddin'?" Lauren questioned. "You're stuck with me, Specs." Russell wouldn't look at her. He just stared straight ahead, trying not to feel anything, waiting for the girl to take a hike. She wasn't seriously going to carry the burden of some emotionally damaged blind kid aimlessly around the neighborhoods of New York._

_Then, he felt a small, warm hand touch him. He looked down to see Lauren's fingers laced around his, squeezing tight. She looked him in the eye._

_"I'm not gonna leave you."_

_Before he could respond, the carriage lurched forward in such a movement that almost threw the two out if their seats. They could hear horses at the head clopping down the cobblestone roads, and they were rolling steadily after. Had the jockey not noticed them?_

_Russell tugged his hand away and flew to the window, muttering "No no no no no no…this can't be happening… No no no no no…"_

_"Where are we going?" Lauren asked._

_"How should I know?" Russell asked, frantic. "We could be riding to China for all we know!"_

_"Wanna make a jump for it?" Lauren reached for the door._

_"Are you insane?" Russell shot back. "We'll get in trouble!"_

_"With who?"_

_"I'm pretty sure that the driver won't be too happy with two kids sneaking onto his carriage. This is a fancy one too! He's probably bringing it to a client."_

_"It's his fault for not checking the cabin before setting off to, apparently, China."_

_Russell thumped his head against the (thankfully padded with soft eggshell fabrics) wall. "I'm staying right here and going wherever this thing takes me."_

_"Then I am too," Lauren agreed._

_Russell decided he wasn't going to protest. She really was his best friend._

_"All right," he replied._

_…_

_The carriage kept rolling a while after the burning orange sun had set over the skyline of skyscrapers and dark clouds carrying a pounding rain came over the city. Lauren had to be the one to shake Russell awake as soon as the vehicle stopped._

_"Get up, Specs!" She yelled in a whisper. "He might be comin' back any second now!"_

_"Huh?" Russell shot straight up, saw the panic in her eyes, and bolted for the door. They stumbled out onto the slippery road, luckily not catching the attention of the jockey. Lauren grabbed Russell's arm and yanked him towards a storefront with a red canopy. There, she wrung out her already soaking hair. They observed the street, lined with shops and motels and office buildings. It looked more or less like the Bronx they called home. Only three of four people crossed the sidewalks as they stood there. It must've been much later than they anticipated._

_"Any clue where we are?" Russell asked._

_"Uh-uh," Lauren said, shaking her head. "I've never been to this town before. Ya got money for a room?"_

_Russell reached into his pocket and pulled out nothing but the inside fabric. "Uh-oh," Lauren said._

_"That's right. We went to Louie's right after school." He hit his palm to his face. "That's just terrific."_

_"Hey, it ain't worst case scenario. After all, I've been good on the streets for weeks. You just gotta find a good spot, away from the crowd. In this case, away from the rain." She was already off, running back out into the shower, despite the ominous thunder._

_"I'm trusting you," Russell told her, following her as she darted around like a cheetah on the hunt. _

_Within ten minutes she had found a narrow alleyway with coverage from the pounding precipitation where she and Russell decided to stay; at least until the rain stopped. With a brown brick building on one side of them and a pale yellow walled one on the other, they had plenty of room to lean against them, facing the other person, legs stretched out. Lauren sat the closest to the opening of the alley. A single trashcan stood between them and blocked Russell from the bright streetlamp light. He held his arms tight together, teeth beginning to chatter as he dried off from the rain. Lauren, on the other hand, had found a few unsold newspapers scattered around and had them hugged close to her body, like a makeshift blanket._

_"I'm gonna try an' get some shut eye," she said, sinking her posture and drooping her eyelids closed. "G'night."_

_"Good night, Lauren," he said. "Hoping tomorrow's a little brighter."_

_It seemed an impossible wish when you were miles from home with no parents, no money, and no clue where you were. But Lauren had survived worse, and he just had to trust his best friend._

_He stared up, past the hung laundry and fire escapes, at the sky. The half moon shone right over him, but not a star in sight. He'd been forced to go to Sunday school too many times to not do the Lord's Prayer before dozing off. And at the end, he whispered to the moon and whoever might be behind it in the sparkling puppet show that was the mysterious night sky, "Take care of them for me."_

_…_

_"Listen here, little girl. You don't belong here."_

_Russell groggily opened his eyes, unsure as to whether the man's voice he heard was real or was the conjuring of a dream. Whoever the man was, he didn't seem the least bit sympathetic._

_"Sir, I live here, in that big ol' building! I was just takin' a break in the shade. Awful hot out, isn't it?"_

_"That lodging house is for boys, little lady. And the building right here doesn't stand for loiterers, much less a kid staying the night under their awnings. I know a place for kids like you, just a few blocks away."_

_Russell finally found his glasses on the ground and put them on. His vision of the man was blocked by the trash can set between him and Lauren. The man probably hadn't seen him yet._

_"Kids like me?" Lauren challenged._

_"Homeless. Trouble-making. Free-loading. And as far as I can tell, orphaned. It's called the Children's Refuge. Maybe they can piece you back together there."_

_Russell leaned out to see the overweight, bearded man in a business suit tug at Lauren's arm._

_"Lemme go!" She shouted. "I ain't goin' nowhere with you!"_

_Russell wished he could stand up. Fight back. Say something. But he sat in complete stillness for fear if getting dragged away himself._

_"It'll be good for you," he assured her, grabbing the collar of her shirt and pushing her down the street._

_Finally, Russell snapped out of his strange, half-awake trance and bolted up after the two. When he skidded out into the sidewalks, they were packed. Carriages clopped by, tourists bustled through, families clamored, businessmen made their on-foot commute, and even more newsboys hawked with seemingly urban legend headlines. It took him a good couple of seconds before spotting his friend about ten feet away. He weaved through packs of people in dapper clothing, calling for her frantically._

_"Lauren! I'm coming!" He yelled. "Lauren!"_

_Her head twisted around, and she turned her whole body to see Russell across the road he was about to cross. It was a look of surprise, followed by one of longing. The man violently shook her back around. As Russell was about to make a sprint to catch up, a large carriage slowly wheeled out on the street in front of him. When it finally came through, the man and girl were nowhere in sight._

_"Lauren." He ran across the road and onto the concrete he saw her standing on just moments before. "Lauren!"_

_Then, the sidewalk split in two. Down the row of stores and offices or out along the bumpy road. Russell ran up one, down the other, and around the bridge that formed between them. He must've searched for almost an hour for what was supposedly "a few blocks away." He never found them._

_Defeated, Russell wandered the stupid sidewalks without much purpose, kicking the stupid ground with his dad's stupid boots as he walked. How could he ha e been so foolish as to let the only thing left in the world that he cared about get towed away with some strange man?_

_He picked up a pebble from the ground. Probably just a broken corner of cobblestone. He chucked it at the brick wall of the first building he saw. Then, he saw the sign on it. It was the same building he slept against._

_The faded gray sign read: "Newsboys Lodging House"._

_A pile of stones sat at the bottom of the wall. Russell scooped up a handful and began pelting the brick facade, hoping it would help him control his frustrations. It didn't. With each pathetic bang against the wall, he got more and more worked up over what he could've done if he weren't such an idiot…_

_"Hey, hey, slow down there. What seems to be ya heartache?"_

_Russell turned to see a blonde boy who appeared about a year older than him. He was a newsboy, judging from his worn clothes, backwards cap, and satchel of papers. The only thing really notable about this one was the wooden crutch he leaned on to compensate for his limp right leg._

_"What's the Refuge?" He asked the newsboy._

_His eyes widened for a second. "Why, you got no place to go? You an orphan?"_

_Russell swallowed before answering a reluctant "Yes."_

_"You don't wanna be taken into the Refuge. It's awful down there. Why, Jack knows more than anyone-" he stopped himself and gave Russell a crooked-head look. "Do you wanna stay at the Lodgin' House for a while? Maybe make some dough sellin' papes?"_

_"You mean… Selling papers for a living?"_

_"Why not? It ain't as bad as it seems. You could fit right in with the gang. We're all orphans here." Then he added in an our-little-secret kind of tone: "I'd pay ya rent for a couple nights, if ya want, while ya get started."_

_"I'm not sure I could do that," Russell said. "Be a newsboy, I mean. I don't think I'd be good at that sorta thing."_

_"Of course ya could. Jack could show ya the ropes!"_

_Russell was starting to grow an increasing curiosity as to who this "Jack" was._

_"You sure you don't mind paying my rent for a couple nights? I mean, I'll pay you back when I can."_

_"Positive," the gimp grinned. "It's only a nickel for two nights. And, well, I gotta nickel."_

_Russell looked into the newsboy's green-hazel eyes, and then out onto the unforgiving street on which he watched his only friend get taken away. He returned his glance back to the boy._

_"All right," he confirmed. "I'll give it a try."_

_"That's the spirit," the crutched boy encouraged, patting him on the back. He took him inside the building, where gas lamps illuminated a wooden desk, inhabited by the keeper. He was in his sixties with very thin hair and a tie around his stubbled neck. The boy told the man the situation and handed him some change. Up the stairs they went, to the room where he would be staying. The walls were an off-white with almost black hardwood floors. Bunk beds lined the walls. There had to be at least five pairs in that bedroom alone. About eight newsboys went around the room now. Some sat in their beds, complaining about the heat and mocking others for whining. Some pulled layers of plaid clothing on over their heads and strapped on suspenders. One or two even leaned against a wall, puffing smoke from their fat, glowing cigars._

_Russell heard them exchange greetings and dialogue with nicknames._

_"Pass the towel, Race?"_

_"It's too damn hot out there, Buttons."_

_"'Ey, Crutchie! Takin' a break so soon?"_

_Did nobody here use their real name?_

_"Jack, it ain't like ya to sleep in," the apparent "Crutchie" called up to a figure curdled in a high bunk. "Come on, we gotta new guy!"_

_"New guy, huh?" Jack rolled over and sat up, legs dangling over the side of the bunk. He wore a striped undershirt and dark slacks. "Ya gotta name?" He asked, pulling the hat that rested on the bedpost over his head._

_Russell hesitated a bit, looking around the room, incredibly intimidated by the somewhat hostile atmosphere but trusting he'd grow to get used to it. _

_Though he didn't know it then, in time, he would learn to treat the rowdy boys around him as family, and he would learn to treat the Lodging House as home._

_He firmly stood and told Jack his name._

_"Specs," he said. "Call me Specs."_


	2. A Strike in Manhattan

**CHAPTER 1**

"Hey."

"Nnnn… No… Jus'… A couple more minutes…"

"Smalls. Get up."

"But-"

"Sure, if you wanna break even this week an' starve for a little while, it's fine with me. Jus' don't say I didn't warn ya."

"Jules…"

Smalls rubbed her eyes and ran a hand through her hair. Though frizzed out from wearing her green hat yesterday, it was manageable. It probably helped that it was almost the length of a boy's haircut. Jules, on the other hand, had thick, curly blonde hair that she stuck into a loose ponytail under her hat most of the time. Most of the time, a large strand was left out, covering her right eye. She seldom made any effort to keep it out of her face.

"You're fifteen years old," She grumpily reminded her as she climbed down from the bunk on top of her (as if Smalls needed reminding). "If I can suck it up and get up at six thirty, so can you."

"Early bird catches the worm," a girl called from across the room.

"Why would I want a worm? What if the bird is more in the mood for some coffee cake instead?" The older girl flashed a mock amused face.

"Nice one, Shortie." She walked downstairs of the Bronx Newsgirls Lodging House, buttoning up her faded yellow shirt. Smalls sat up in her bouncing, squeaky cot, pushing the thin cotton sheets off of her nearly bare legs. She wore shorts and a sleeveless undershirt, as she always did. No fancy nightgowns for her, or any of the other girls at the Lodging House, for that matter. They were lucky enough to get the roof over their heads and clothes they had for a couple of cents a night.

And it was a pretty nice place for a building that housed orphans living on pennies a day. It was four stories high with clean, striped wallpaper in every room. There were about five baths for the girls to rotate turns with and deliveries from the milkman every Sunday. Even as she looked around at the crowded room of newsgirls, rushing around in various states of preparation for the day of selling papers ahead, Smalls could only think about how glad she was to call a place like this home after her temporary lodging at Manhattan's Refuge a few years back. It gave her chills to think about the cockroaches she'd find in her bed each morning, the slop for food, the slave-driving demands of the abusive warden Snyder…

Man, was she lucky she escaped when she could, and even more lucky that an unsuspecting sap on the street coughed up some spare change for her to ride back home to the Bronx in a trolley. She always believed that she had a certain irresistible childish charm about her, and she had mastered the sacred art of begging.

A hanger poked out from underneath Smalls' rusty-railed bed, and she kicked it back into the stash out of sight with a bare foot. The jokester of her peers, her new prank was having all the wire hangers in the building gradually disappear. Within two days, the girls had taken notice, but still had not pointed a finger at the youngest on their floor. She made her way over to the closet, picked off her usual ensemble (one of the only ones that was still hung), and began putting it on, accompanied by the laments of girls who had to stuff their clothes under their mattresses or sling them over bunk railings, only to have them fall and be kicked around on the floor. Smalls swung her brown vest over her shoulders, buttoned her trousers, and slipped into her work boots before rushing down the steps and directly to the circulation center for the Bronx Sentinel.

It was a warm summer day with only traces of clouds lining the bright blue sky. Girls and boys both crowded the gate inside, though cleanly separated on either side by gender, as if automatically conforming to the puerile, age-old belief in cooties. She had to jump up to try and catch a glimpse of the headline board over the heads of the others, as she always did. "Senator Caught in Fatal Carriage Crash". Not bad for a Monday, though it was sort of a mouthful.

A whistle blew, the gates flew open, and young boys and girls flooded the circulation center, pushing to be at the front of the line.

"Single-file!" Shouted the man at the desk as he distributed the day's newspapers. It was obvious that there was a struggle to be heard over the chatter that swept up the collection of young news carriers.

Smalls, relatively close to the front of the line, overheard the girl in front of her say, "Didja hear about that Manhattan strike?"

Her head perked right up like she was a pet dog who just heard her name being called. Manhattan. That's where the Refuge had been. She silently leaned forward the tiniest bit, trying to hear the rest of the conversation.

"Yeah, jus' visited Buttons there yesterday. They were all in a tizzy 'bout the World hikin' pape prices."

"Why would Joe do that?"

"Beats me. Probably jus' 'cuz he's a greedy little rat. Buttons sure was ticked 'bout it though. He an' Specs were-"

What? _Her_ Specs?

"'Morning Smalls," the man at the circulation window grunted, picking at his thick black mustache. "Come on, how many?"

Smalls turned to the man and dropped two quarters on the desk. He heaved a stack of one hundred papers from under his desk and dropped them in the petite girl's arms. She deposited them into the bag that crossed her body and wandered back out on the streets, thinking about what she just heard. Maybe it was just gossip, truths mixed with made-up stories. She'd heard plenty of that when the girls tried to sell their papers. But were they really talking about her childhood friend, or…?

_Don't be stupid,_ she thought to herself. _Plenty of guys have glasses. It probably ain't Specs. Russell. Whatever._

She went through her daily selling route, handing our papes in record time. Her gimmick was her ability to play young. Even as a teenager, she could pass for a starving little girl of twelve, earning the pity (and pay) of anyone out on the boulevard with a soft heart.

But all the while, all she could think about was that always-politely-smiling face of her past that was somehow always able to make her feel cared about, even when it seemed the world wanted to throw her away.

…

"Next thing we gotta do is spread the word. Get others involved," David Jacobs explained as the Manhattan newsie gang sat together at an otherwise-empty Jacobi's.

"A'ight, you heard the guy," Jack Kelly agreed, standing up and slamming his hands on the wooden table, creating ripples in everyone's glasses of water. "Who's takin' Woodside?"

"I got it!" Knobs declared, raising a hand.

"I got Flushings," called Albert.

"I'll take the Bronx!" Finch said, jumping up. Specs slumped uselessly in his chair. He hadn't been to his old home since his folks… well, passed away. This would've been him perfect excuse to visit. And maybe, just maybe, his old friend Lauren had found her way back home-

"Specs, you take Queens," Jack ordered. Specs stood and saluted, showing he was ready to do whatever it took to help the strike.

"Sure thing," he responded half-heartedly. Queens. Yippee.

It was a dumb thought. What were the odds that someone like her could sneak out of the Refuge? And even if she did, what were the odds she's still be at the Bronx?

_Why was he even thinking about this in the first place? _What are the odds that this stranger from his childhood would even remember him?

Why did _her _face stick in his mind after all this time anyway?

"Now who's takin' Brooklyn?" Jack asked. Specs dropped his gaze to the floor, pretending to be incredibly interested in twiddling his thumbs.

…

Smalls lied in Jules' upper bunk late that afternoon, letting her head and shoulders dangle upside-down over the side. She stared out the open window at the endless city skyline as exhausted newsgirls trickled in the door. The old stairs creaked with every individual footfall. She guessed it was about four. Pretty soon, Jules came in and stood in front of her bunk, glaring eye-to-eye with Smalls.

"So, how was your day?" Smalls asked innocently.

"You're on my bed," Jules replied.

"That's not an answer," She teased. Jules responded by setting her empty bag on the floor, climbing up the ladder, and sitting on Smalls' legs.

"You're on my bed," She repeated. "And if you had any hair, I'd be pullin' you down by it."

"No sense of humor on you today, huh?" She squirmed out from underneath Jules, rolled over, swung her legs around and leaped down to the ground.

"You're gonna get hurt if you do that too much," Jules called down. "Did it in my first month. Sprained somethin' in my arm."

"So? You were six, Julia," Smalls said.

"Just warning you that-"

All of a sudden, the bell at the door rung throughout the building. Smalls was the very first to race down the stairs and peek around the hall to the entrance room to see who it was. Ms. Tulipson, with her bulky purple dress and hair yanked back into a tight bun, approached the white, foggy-windowed door and twisted the brass knob open. About half a dozen other girls came down after Smalls. The eldest, a black-haired and fair-skinned eighteen-year-old who went by Snaps, was the first girl to actually come up to the door, followed by her closest friends, some of the Lodging House veterans. Jules was among them. Smalls could barely see the figure at the other side of the door, but she could hear his sharp and loud voice as Ms. Tulipson returned to her desk to allow them to talk.

"Ya see, we gotta strike goin' down in Manhattan, with all the newsies," he explained. "Pulitzer wants to raise the price of papers by another ten cents per hundred, an' we decided we's gonna revolt. Jack says we's gonna try to stop the wagon from deliverin' to the rest of the city…"

"We've heard the story, Finch," Snaps told him. "Cut to the chase."

"Listen, do you guys… eh, girls… want in? I mean, we could really make a difference. Get newspaper owners everywhere, not jus' Manhattan, to take kid workers more seriously. Plus, we'd kinda owe ya one if the Sentinel ever turns on you."

"Who else do you got on board?" Snaps asked.

Finch hesitated a bit before admitting "No one yet."

"Have ya sent someone to Brooklyn at least?" Jules asked. "A rebellion this big ain't gonna work unless ya got someone like Spot Conlon at the lead."

"Ah… No, no word from them yet," Finch said. "The abastards haven't come back yet-"

"Ambassadors," Snaps corrected. "And on that note, I think we're all good. You can have fun with your little strike, but I'm telling ya, it ain't gonna do any good."

"You're kddin' me right? Now I have to go all the way back an' tell Jack I couldn't even get a bunch of girls on it?"

"Come back to us when Spot's in," a girl Smalls couldn't identify from behind said. "Then we'll talk." The other girls nodded in agreement.

"Fine, I guess I'll be on my way then," He says. "But you all will be sorry."

But Smalls' curiosity about Specs was once again sparked by the boy's appearance. Without giving a second thought, she dashed to the door, pushed her way to the front of the crowd, and looked up at the tanned newsboy. "Hold on a second. You're from the Manhattan Newsboy Lodging House, right?" Finch nodded. "Is there a boy there with blonde curls and thick glasses - about my age?"

"Sounds like Specs," He answered, crouching a bit to talk to her like she was a little kid. "But he's probably much older than you, sweetie."

"I'm fifteen years old."

Finch was taken aback. He straightened immedietly. "Oh, I… well, yeah. Fifteen. That's him all right. Why?"

_Dear God. And he actually kept the name?_

"I'll go with ya, even if none of the other girls are," She told him, standing straight and proud. A half smile of appreciation of the gesture came onto the boy's face.

"Smalls, don't give the guy any pity. They're askin' for trouble," Jules muttered.

"I'm going," She stated. "Gimme one second."

She hurried up the steps snatched her hat from Jules' bed, where she last left it. By the time she came back down, the crowd of girls had dispersed, and Finch waited at the door. "Ya coming or what?"

When Smalls stepped out onto the sidewalk, she was surprised to see Jules leaning on the brick wall.

"You're comin' too?" she asked.

"'Course I'm comin'. Do you know how dangerous a strike can get? You can't go into a fight with this dirty lot of boys alone. Someone's gotta come to give you supervision. So," She sighed. "I guess it has to be me."

Smalls flashed a huge grin and threw an arm up and around her shoulder. She could barely reach. "Best decision of your life. This is gonna be great!"

Jules gave her a look through half-shut eyes. "Don't push it, Shortie."


	3. Reunion

**Chapter 2**

The attempt to stop the newspaper wagon wasn't to happen until the next day, but the eager Smalls claimed she wanted to meet the team she'd be striking alongside. So the trio hopped onboard a trolley and zipped back to Manhattan barely within an hour. Then, they approached the Newsboys Lodging House - a solid brick building much like the girls' home. Smalls stared to the parallel alleyway, filled with garbage and old newspapers. A silver trash can still stood there. She couldn't remember why, but it made her shudder a bit.

Finch knocked on the door. After a few seconds, he pounded on it violently. "'Ey, open up, ya lazy sacks! It's me!"

A boy with messy black hair and a round, child's face opened the door, holding the insides of his tan vest casually. He first turned his attention to Jules.

"Oh, well, good afternoon Gorgeous," he greeted with a smile, tipping his hat. "What brings a dame like you here at this hour?"

"Can it, Romeo," Jules shot back, glaring with her one uncovered eye. The boy threw his arms up into the air and abandoned the door.

"How does everyone know my name?!"

Soon, a brown-haired boy in all blue came to the door. "Hey, Finch. Who are ya friends?"

"They came with me from Bronx. Said they wanted to meet the crew." He stepped back and gestured to the girls. "This is Jules, an' this is Smalls."

"Hi."

"Hello!"

"Great. The name's Jack. Wanna come in?"

"I guess."

"Sure!"

In the entrance room, the girls and Jack sat on old wooden benches facing each other.

"So, welcome aboard. You two are the first to agree to help us out, ya know. But Dave - he's kinda my partner in startin' the strike - thinks the rest will come back around. It's all about Brooklyn for 'em. If Spot Conlon's not in, they're not in."

"Same for our Lodging House," Smalls said.

"Then why're you here?" Jack asked.

"We didn't agree with them," she replied. "I support the cause, and-"

"She's here to see her old boyfriend," Jules cut in, arms crossed.

"Jules!" Smalls became flustered and turned to her friend.

"It's true, ain't it?" She asked.

"Yeah, but… I mean…Jules, we were kids. We never… you know, courted or anything." She turned back to the somewhat confused Jack. "Russell. Specs. He's just a friend that I haven't seen in four years, and I kind of wanted to see him again. Though I do also back up your cause."

"A'ight then, I'll get 'im down here." He stood up from his chair and walked over to the dull-carpeted staircase. He banged on the rail once or twice and yelled, "Specs! C'mon down here! Someone's here to see you!"

Smalls' stomach churned a bit. She didn't really have any reason to be nervous, but what if he didn't remember her? What if he had changed completely? What if…

Jack disappeared upstairs, and a few seconds later, a figure began running down the stairs, two at a time. At first, Smalls knew it couldn't be him. His toned and lightly muscled arms showed from his striped, sleeveless undershirt that he wore with dark suspenders, navy pants, and a gray hat, the trademark of a news carrier. But when he turned, she could see his curly blonde hair poking out from under his cap, those inquisitive eyes, and his round, black-framed glasses. Smalls stood up.

"Specs?" She asked. The boy walked towards her, looking up and down, from her favorite green cap to her dirty, creased boots. Though he was confused by the hair, he could find his old best friend behind bright blue-green eyes, sparkling with excitement.

"Lauren."

Smalls couldn't suppress the huge smile that grew on her face. She let out a chuckle and ran to her friend, throwing her arms around him. He stumbled back, still in major awe and shock that this was her. He streamed out an incredulous laugh as he wrapped his arms right back around her, lifting her into the sky for a moment before grounding her again. When they pulled away, Specs spent another few seconds just looking at her. Her quirky nose was still the same, and she still radiated that same peppy positive energy that he had missed for so long. As her face matured, she never outgrew the forever-young look about her. Rather, it was added to, with natural beauty. Smalls squeezed her thin eyebrows down and asked, "How did you get so much taller than me?"

The question was valid - when standing straight, the top of her cap barely came up to the bottom of his chin. Specs shrugged. "You always were smaller than me."

"That's what they call me at the Bronx Lodging House. Smalls."

"Bronx Lodging House?" He repeated, eyes growing. She nodded. "Okay, come on. We gotta catch up." He led to the back of the room where there was a more comfortable leather couch.

Jules sat alone, forgotten about, and didn't mind it. She wasn't particularly eager to be introduced to Smalls' friend. All the newsboys she met had the tendency to think they were above everyone else (girls especially). Maybe it was because they thought they had endured so many hardships, but Jules was immune to whatever sympathy teases were thrown at her. She knew every poor orphan story in the book, from the "parents died in a carriage crash" to "little sister can't pay for life-saving surgery." Or maybe it was just whatever popularity contest went on in their own Lodging Houses. Boys got small-town fame for selling the most papers, which was usually from cheats and lies, but they also got it from the cigars they smuggled, the pranks they played, and the cops they deceived. Of course, a newsgirl might do any of these things too, but when a boy got away with it, their heads would swell, and way too much for Jules' tastes.

Just then, a boy who seemed about Jules' age carefully made his way down the steps. He wore a fully-buttoned dark vest with his white dress shirt and tie. He didn't seem newsie material at all, and if he was, he was obviously a newbie.

"Hi there," he greeted, smoothing over his ironed slacks with his hands and approaching the bench. He barely had any accent in his voice at all, but was there a touch of nervousness in it? "Jack told me we got some new recruits. That's great." He held out his hand. "My name is David. And you are…?"

Jules stared at the outstretched hand, but didn't take it. "Jules," she said simply, gently pushing his hand back down. David seemed confused by this response but tried to keep a tentative smile on his face.

"Right, okay. So, you're from the Bronx, right?"

"Right." Julia didn't stand.

"Erm, you gotta little…" He gestured across his face to indicate the strip of hair that covered her eye.

"I know," she replied. "Surely you've met a girl before? We tend to have long hair."

David gave her a squinted-eye look.

"Whoops," she said. "My mistake."

"Listen - Jules, right? We're going to have to work together on this whole strike thing, and I'm not too sure we're off to a sanguine start."

"Oh no, you have intimidated me by your large an' uncommon words. Lord save me," Jules replied, voice thick with icy sarcasm. "Look, even I don't want to be here, and you seem like Mister Sweet Guy. A family, I'm guessin', good grades, the works. What the hell are you doin' at the head of the street rat revolution?"

David looked offended. He pointed a finger at her. "That's an awful lot to assume about someone upon just meeting them. What gives you a right to judge? I mean, for all you know, I could be living in this house myself. What's telling you otherwise?"

Jules leaned back, scanning David and gesturing to his entirety. "Just... everythin'. First of all, them clothes. Second of all, ya posture. Thirdly, you haven't broken a cuss yet. Or even improper slang for that matter. And fourthly-"

"We're gonna be late!" A little boy in a purple plaid shirt and bowler hat ran down the stairs and tugged at David's hand. "Come on, Mom and Dad said we have to be home by supper."

Jules let out a brief, harsh laugh. "Fourthly, that."

David looked from the little boy to Jules. "Okay, so you're not completely wrong about that, but-" he exhaled before he could start getting angry at the girl. "I apologize. We can talk later."

Jules crossed her legs, and David led his brother out the door, bending over to talk to him. Julia considered it adorable how formal he was, and how easily he was annoyed despite his determination not to show it. Middle class children of full families were often so naive. Maybe she should've apologized for coming off so cold.

Eh, maybe not.

…

"But you escaped to Refuge? The only person I know who managed to do that is-"

Smalls rolled her eyes. "Lemme guess: Jack?" Specs nodded. "Oh, please. He's all you boys ever talk about. I could run circles around him- and probably sell that much better too."

"I ain't gonna call you a liar," Specs agreed. "But he's the best in Manhattan."

"Manhattan could easily become my kingdom, dearest Specs, and Jack could cleanse thy royal lavatory seats," Smalls declared in a horrible British accent. Specs laughed and executed a regal bow.

"Of course, milady."

_That._ That was the Specs she remembered. That was the Specs that Smalls had missed.

"But… ain't you scared for tomorrow?" Specs asked.

"What's to be scared about?" Smalls answered with a question.

"There was this trolley strike – well, it's still goin' on, and it's gotten real bad. Sure, the worst we've had thrown back at us today is a couple of scabs, but if we try an' stop the wagons, someone might call the cops."

"I knew that," Smalls lied. "I don't see the fuss in all that. We could outrun 'em, couldn't we?"

"Sure," Specs said, trying to shrug off his doubts and play it cool. "No big deal. A little danger here an' there… ya know, it's good stimulation for the brain. Hey, you stayin' the night in Manhattan?" He asked.

"Can't. Jules ain't gonna let me rough it out on the street, an' the motels around here are too expensive. We'll be back early tomorrow mornin', though."

"Right. I mean, good. Great."

"Yep. But I can probably stick around here for a while. Maybe a couple hours."

"All right then." He thought for a moment before raising a finger. "I know."

"You know what?"

He grinned. "How about we play a game for old time's sake?"

He approached the side of the staircase and opened the door to a secret compartment. It was a cluttered closet, filled with jackets and various cardboard boxes. Specs pulled out one that seemed to once hold a new shirt from a store. Little wooden trinkets clinked inside. Smalls almost tore the lid off, hastily opening it to ensure that her suspicions were true. It was an old-fashioned chessboard, checkered with white and dark brown. The pieces rolled around on top, the two colors scrambled. She grabbed Specs' wrist and dragged him out the door, finally stopping on the second step to the top.

"White or brown?" Smalls asked.

Specs didn't drop his smile for a millisecond. "Surprise me."


	4. A Pep Talk

"What?" Specs stared at the board in perplexity. They had taken a break from their tournament for a helping of bread donations from the nuns at the church. Then they had moved the game up to the second floor. They sat across from each other atop an empty, mattress-less bunk out of the way of the ever-clamorous newsies, abuzz with excitement about tomorrow's endeavor. "Three outta four. You got me."

"I learned from the master," Smalls answered playfully, kicking his king off of the board with the slightest swing of her white figurine.

"Flattery ain't gonna make me go easy on ya next time," He assured her, packing his pieces back into the shirt box. "This is war."

"I'm absolutely terrified." She began picking up her white pieces.

"'Ey, Shortie!" Smalls heard a commanding voice call.

She sat up straight with a start. "Uh-oh."

"Jules?" Specs asked.

"Jules," Smalls answered.

"C'mon, we's gonna be late for curfew!" She went around the room, checking each bunk.

"I probably gotta get goin' now," Smalls said.

Specs paused his work, and his eyes turned a bit sad. "Right, right, I understand." He began packing up the game once more.

"Hey, listen to me…" She hesitated for a moment before placing a hand on top of Specs'. He ceased his task immediately and looked up at her. "Thanks for tonight. Had a great time. An' be careful tomorrow."

Specs nodded quickly, smiling. "A-all right. Thanks… You too. It was great to get to see ya again."

Were his cheeks turning… Pink?

Smalls smirked.

"What?" Specs asked.

Smalls dangled her legs over the side of the bunk. "You always were a blusher." Specs tried to shrug it off, embarrassed. Smalls pushed off of the bunk and landed on the ground with a solid thud. "Catcha later, Specs."

"Bye Lauren," he called back, still feeling stupid about the exchange.

…

Early the next morning, newsboys scurried all around the Lodging House. Like always, they shouted from across the room, clamored up stairs, and banged violently on bathroom doors, a racket that when multiplied by twenty or so boys in one room could quickly give an outsider a headache. The two Bronx girls were also back, Smalls clinging to a bunk ladder and talking loudly to some boys and Jules sitting on the floor next to her picking at her cuticles. David had arrived at the house by request of Jack, and the two stood at the top of the stairwell.

"Excuse me!" David attempted with a controlled yell. "Can I get everyone's attention for just a sec?"

Not a single boy looked up from their routine except Crutchie, who was sitting on his bottom bunk fastening what looked like a vertical banner that read "STRIKE" onto his crutch.

"Guys, listen!" David tried once more.

Crutchie frowned at their disobedience, stuck two fingers in his mouth, and shot out a glass-shattering whistle. "Listen up!" He shouted. "Jack an' Davey got somethin' ta say!"

The entire crew shut up and turned to the three boys.

"Thanks, Crutch," Jack said.

"No problem," Crutchie replied.

He looked at David with a bit of a smile and a nod to say, "it's all you." He stepped on top of a small wooden box once filled with bottles of milk and cleared his throat, wringing his hands.

"All right, guys, this is it." He clapped and kept his hands folded at chest level, pointing them at the newsies. "Today we stop the wagons from delivering papers to the rest of the city. This is where we show old man Pulitzer we are serious. I…" He paused, trying to find the right words. "I'm not going to lie, what we are about to do is really risky. I mean, you all heard about that trolley strike that's still going strong. Someone might call the police. And, well, our numbers are limited. So I suggest-"

"What about Queens?" Knobs yelled from the back of the room.

David dropped his hands and wrung them once more. The palms were beginning to feel sweaty. "Erm…"

Specs raised a hand sheepishly. "They said they'd be over in a jiff if we got Brooklyn on our side."

"But Woodside?" Buttons asked nobody in particular. "Please tell me we got Woodside!"

"Nope," Albert said. "Wanted the nod from Spot Conlon."

"Oh, pssh, please, who needs Spot Conlon?" David tried to casually brush off.

"Apparently, all the newsies in the whole damn state of New York," Jules replied. David shot her a look - an expression that read neutral surprise that she spoke up and annoyance at her continued negativity.

"Who are we jokin'?" Race demanded, yanking a fat cigar out from between his teeth. "This is suicide. The other guys smelled the stinkin' corpse. That's why they backed off, ain't it? Do we got anybody at all backin' us up?"

Soon, the crowd of boys was alive with murmurs and doubts. David looked out at his slipping audience with nothing coming into his head to say.

"Welp, this is turning out to be one hell of a pep talk, Dave," Jack grumbled.

Smalls climbed up to the top of a bunk ladder, leaned out and cupped a hand to her mouth to shout over the conversations. "What, so girls don't count, fellas?" Her volume drew only about half of the boys' eyes over.

"Smalls, get down from there," Jules muttered, grabbing her arm.

Smalls tore it away. "You got the Bronx here. We's gonna fight to the finish, no many how many scabs we hafta soak, and no matter how many carriages we hafta halt."

A few glances were exchanged. Smalls' face began to redden.

She jumped down from her perch and stomped her foot. "What?!" A few laughs rippled through the crowd.

"Hey!" Specs snapped. A hush fell over the newsies in a split second. It wasn't like him to yell. "Smalls is right. What we lack in number we can make up for in spirit." He stood up beside her defensively. Jules leaned away from the two, sitting right at their side.

David smiled. "That's it, guys! So listen. We can carry this far if we work together. I mean, come on, an entire Lodging House with a personal score to settle against some old geezers with a newspaper. We'll be defiant. We'll revolt. We'll turn their whole setup upside-down."

He paused for a second, acknowledging that he now had the entire room's attention. Everyone sat up straight, even the ever-casual Jules, impressed by the passion behind his words.

"This is our chance to show them that we are a force. That we exist. That we will not be pushed around. If we don't, who's to say they won't hike the price again? So… What do you say? Are we going to be Pulitzer's silent slaves, or are we going to seize the day?"

There was a moment or two of complete silence. David started to feel that his speech did no good, or worse, was going to be mocked. He stepped down from the crate and took a step back, falling in line with Jack.

He was the one who started the applause. It started as a slow clap from two or three of the newsies, but it soon escalated to a full standing ovation from everyone in the room. It lingered for a while, and David took it all in with a grin - the enthusiasm that showed clearly on the faces all around him, the war cries that rang out through the applauding rally of newsboys, and the approving pat on the back from their leader, Jack. He was stuck in the street rat revolution, all right, but he would never even think of leaving them now.

"A'ight, you heard the guy!" Jack shouted. Then, swinging a fist into the air: "Let's soak 'em!"

The newsies roared "Yeah!" before they started bolting down the stairs. Jules was stuck in a traffic jam against the wall as the boys pushed their way through the cramped dormitory. Smalls, however, had been able to run ahead.

"Smalls!" She called, attempting to push her way through. "Hey, Shortie, wait up!"

Smalls didn't look back. Her attention was forward.

"Come on, Lauren!" Jules heard Specs call back to the younger girl from the stairs. She smiled brightly and squeezed past the others to catch up. As the two began to walk down the steps, Jules could've sworn she saw the boy's hand begin to reach for Smalls'.

She stopped struggling through the crowd and just stared for a moment. Something about the easily mistakable motion added to a dent in Jules. Smalls was always the kid. The young. The innocent. Everyone's up-to-no-good little sister. At least to her and a couple of the other Lodging House girls. So yeah, Jules felt protective of her. And now, this boy she knew nothing about and Smalls saw for the first time in years only yesterday was hanging around her all the time. She smelled something bad, and though she had joked about it before, she didn't like the idea of her Shortie being reeled in, soiled, and heartbroken by some dirty, cocky newsboy one bit.

The room was now clear except for one other person. Jules knocked a straggling Jack Kelly who crossed into her way almost to the floor with one arm as she marched to the stairs.

"'Ey!" He stumbled back and caught his breath. "Jeez, Jules, what's ya problem?"

"Nothing to concern yourself with. Now let's topple this stupid wagon."

"Nobody is going to be toppling anything," a voice said, accompanied by the drumming of new leather shoes against the staircase. David emerged, defeated, followed by several groaning boys. "I was the first one out. The wagon already went around, and we saw it come back in just now. Pulitzer must've seen our plan coming and changed the delivery schedule."

"It ended five minutes before it's supposed to go out?" Jack demanded. "Okay, this is jus' great. We gotta wait 'til tomorrow."

"Come on, don't ya guys gotta evenin' edition?" Jules asked. There was no way she was going to beg for change for the trolley to bring her back a day she didn't need to.

David raised his eyebrows and looked to Jack. "Do we?"

Jack nodded in equal excitement. "We do."

"Perfect," David said. "What time do you think it'll go out?"

"Don't ya worry 'bout it. I'll ask around. Even the loyalist goons can be deceived for a little information." With that, he turned and started heading down the stairs, past the wave of discouraged newsboys.

That left David and Jules alone in the corner of the room. David looked up and down the girl. She was about his height, and like a majority of the newsies, was brushed with city grime from head to toe. She, like Smalls, wore layers of ill-fitting men's clothing. Her wavy blonde hair was taken down from its usual ponytail and flowing over her shoulders, messy as always, with her bangs in her face.

David realized he had been staring at the disheveled girl too long, and she was taking notice. She turned her head and asked, "What?"

"It was a great idea," He commented.

"Thanks, but it was no big thing. You'd hafta have a pretty thick skull to not think of it yourselves."

David sighed. "Okay, Jules, I understand you're not the cheeriest of people. But I really need to know whether you're in or out of this strike."

"Does it matter?" Jules crossed her arms. "Like I said, the kid was the one who wanted in. Smalls. I'm jus' here to make sure she doesn't get into too much trouble."

David's expression softened. The thought of some sort of compassion behind her tough barrier took him by surprise. "Oh. So…she's your sister?"

She shook her head. "Nah. But she likes to get into trouble sometimes, so somebody's gotta play big sister."

"You do realize that this strike might get violent," David reminded her.

"Hell, that ain't stoppin' Momma's Boy here from bein' at the head."

David involuntarily showed a bit of a wince in his face at the use of a curse. A snort slipped out of Jules.

"Okay, I've tried to be nice, and quite frankly, I could do without the immature assumptions," he said, starting to clench his fists by his sides. "Maybe you could start acting your own age."

Jules widened her eyes. "Oh-ho, I'm the one who needs to grow up?" She scoffed, and the puff of air shot a drooping strand of hair up off her face and back down. "Listen to yourself."

David raised his hand as if to make a gesture, but then dropped it angrily. "All right, I've had it with you. I'm trying to organize a strike here, and if you're just here to contradict and babysit that little mouse girl, you shouldn't be here at all."

Jules stepped closer to him, getting into his face. "Trust me, I ain't too fond of you either, Sweetheart, but that mouse ain't gonna let me leave. Remember, genius?"

"Oh, sure, like you could be bright enough to lead these guys."

"How are you even their leader?" Jules snapped. "These aren't even your kind!"

"Four o'clock sharp!" Jack came hurrying back up the stairs and approached the pair. "Just overheard Weasel and the-"

"Not now, Kelly," Jules replied icily, not tearing her poisonous glare away from David.

Through gritted teeth, David grumbled, "Get your damn hair out of your face. You look like an idiot."

"Whoa, Davey, calm down!" Jack set a hand on his friend's back. David swatted it down and began to leave.

"This isn't your fight, David. Run back home to your folks while you still can," Jules shot as she stood her ground.

David disappeared back down the stairs without another word.

"And while you still got 'em," she muttered. "You ungrateful turd."


	5. What it's Gonna Take to Stop the Wagons

_**Author's note:**_

_This is the chapter in which I abuse the setting of a fire escape._

_But come on, that's literally all the set is. _

_Rooftops and fire escapes._

**_~CW_**

"Two cents says I can hit the guy in the fancy fedora," Albert bet, leaning over the railing of the Lodging House fire escape.

"Done deal," Elmer agreed, standing next to a sitting Specs. He came up from his position leaning against the brick wall to look down at the street with Albert. The latter boy chewed up a piece of tobacco he had in his pocket and released a spit ball. Specs heard a splat soon after.

"Got 'im?" He asked.

"Of course he didn't," Elmer answered. He held out a hand. "Come on, pay up."

"Two outta three. Double or nothin'," Albert proposed.

Specs got up himself and looked over the railing. "Fine." He scanned the passing families to find a challenge. "Girl in the white dress." He flashed a crooked "I-got-your-back" grin at Elmer.

"Aw, come on, a little goil?" Albert whined. "I can't do it to a kid. That's jus' mean."

"Oh, great," Elmer said. "So if ya forfeit I'd be glad ta take the money an'…"

"A'ight, smart ass, I'll give it a shot." He took another piece and spit down into the crowd. Specs watched carefully as it splattered down onto the sidewalk.

"Oh, perfect trajectory," Elmer congratulated.

"Wouldja shush?"

"I'll shush when ya cough up the cash," he answered.

"Come on, Elmer won fair and square," Specs said.

"Sure I will." He patted his pockets and scratched his head. Then, he widened his eyes in mock enlightenment. "Oh, right, I jus' remembered. I'm currently outta a job."

"You wouldn't remember your own skull if it weren't screwed on," Elmer joked. "Soon as this strike's over, Old Man Joe better give us some compensation or somethin'. You can pay me then."

"In ya dreams," Albert said.

"Honestly, Albert, how hard could it be?" Specs asked, watching the bustling streets below.

"If it's so easy, why don't you give it a try?" He challenged the youngest of the three.

Specs hesitated, but both the boys were looking at him. How could he not screw up? "A'ight. My call. The fire hydrant."

"That don't count," Albert complained. "It ain't movin'."

"It's his first go, Al," Elmer said, putting an arm around Specs' back. "Let's see what he can do."

Specs declared, "A'ight, here goes." He tentatively took a piece if tobacco from Albert and shot it down. It was quickly followed by a shout of "Hey!"

Albert looked down. A huge grin of horrible surprise spread onto his face. He covered it with his hand. Specs had just spit on the head of a mustached police officer.

Elmer cursed and grabbed Specs by the shoulder, pulling him back inside through the large window before they could be seen. Albert squeezed in with them, holding back hysterical laughter. He collapsed onto the floor wheezing, unable to make any audible sounds. Specs shut the window as fast as he could.

"If it's any consolation," Elmer offered, "He was about a foot away from the fire hydrant."

"Oh, thanks for that," Specs sarcastically replied. "I feel so much better."

…

"So, how was your reunion with Four-eyes?" Jules jokingly asked Smalls as the two of them strolled down the streets of Manhattan.

"It's Specs," she corrected.

Jules smiled and shrugged. "Whatever."

She stuffed her hands into her pockets. "It was great. We played chess just like old times, and today we nicked a couple cigarettes from that Racetrack fella-"

"Woah, woah, hold your horses there, Shortie." She slowed down and looked Smalls in the eye. "Did you actually smoke any?"

"Of course not," She replied. "I don't smoke, and neither does he. But man," she laughed. "Was Race mad."

Jules just shook her head and put her attention back to the concrete sidewalks.

"He never caught us, though," Smalls added in an attempt to put her friend at ease. "Besides, what's it matter? You smoke all the time."

"I'm seventeen. I can do whatever I want. But I don't wanna see you get breathin' problems or somethin' from smokin' when you're too young. I've told ya not to do it before."

"Yeah, yeah, and I've heard ya. Jeez, you can nag like a mother sometimes."

Jules shrugged. She wouldn't know.

There was a lull. Smalls felt two softly clacking figurines in her pocket - a pearly white knight and rook. She sneaked them from Specs when he wasn't looking, just for the sake of a bit of a laugh when he would throw the entire Lodging House upside-down looking for them. Then, she remembered something she meant to ask Jules.

"I noticed you talkin' to some tall boy yesterday and today," Smalls finally said. "But I'm lousy at rememberin' names and such. Ya know, black hair, tie…Who was he?"

"Name's David," she answered. "Naïve. He's gotta family."

"David…" Smalls thought for a moment. "Isn't he the one who started the strike?"

"Yeah. Kelly's partner."

Smalls stopped walking. "Jules!" She began to scold.

She kept walking. "What?"

Smalls ran to catch up. "Ya got in an argument with the organizer of the strike?"

Jules sighed and dropped her head back to the smog-stained sky. "Man, was it really that much of a scene?"

"Ah, yeah, it was," Smalls replied. "What did you guys manage to get so hung up on?"

"Nothin' specific. I simply let out a crack or two, and he was simply bein' an idiotic pansy."

"Aw, come on," Smalls wined. "You said that we could be in this strike together."

"Yeah, and we are."

"Then it wouldn't kill ya to be nice ta that boy!" Jules simply groaned as if the thought of the effort alone was laboring. "I know it's kinda hard with your... Well, ya know..."

Jules knew exactly where this was going, and she hated it. Some of the girls had "diagnosed" her with some form of social anxiety a while back.

"Look, I'll play his little reindeer games for the strike. It jus' doesn't hafta be anything more."

Jules just didn't like to become attached to people. She couldn't stand the happy, peppy, friendly facades that so many others masqueraded with only to find their second face later on. Most of the time, she observed in-genuine social rituals from afar rather than interacting, never letting herself be the vulnerable one. Obviously, there were clear exceptions, and she was pretty close with the girls at the Lodging House. And Smalls, with her reckless spunk and, in Jules' opinion, constant need of supervision, somehow wriggled her way to the top of the list. The two could bicker and joke and converse whenever either of them felt like it.

Smalls snapped with a grin at her new idea. "A gift."

Jules looked up from the ground. "What?"

"You should get 'im a gift. To say sorry, an' to show we's pledgin' loyalty an' stuff."

"You're kidding."

"Am not."

"Smalls, this is a strike. We're talkin' wild fightin' boys who thirst bloody vengeance, not a sad sack of orphans who want Christmas donations."

"Jus' promise me you'll think about it," Smalls requested.

"Fine, I will," Jules said, rolling her eyes.

"Come on, a real promise," Smalls begged. "The kind we do back home." Jules smirked.

"All right."

She stopped and spit in both of her hands. Smalls did the same. They held out their arms, right crossed over left, and grabbed each other's hands. Then, with a four-handed shake, the two firmly stated, "I swear."

Smalls smiled proudly as she dusted her hands. "Good."

The two began walking once more, watching the leaves of overhanging trees planted along the sidewalk slowly flutter down in a bronze shower. "What time is it?" Jules asked.

Smalls fished an old, stained watch out of her back pocket by the chain, one of the many treasures she had found abandoned in a dumpster a while ago that still worked. "Three twenty," she declared, tapping the face with the cracked glass. "Shoot, we need to get back."

"Okay," Jules agreed. "You sure you want to go through wid' all of this?"

"Of course I am," Smalls assured her. "We'll soak 'em real good. It's time to make our mark and seize the day."

"Oh dear God," she mumbled with a chuckle. "They've legitimately brainwashed you."

…

The team now stood together, a rowdy mess, around the gate of the World's circulation office. This was it. Grayish clouds began to streak the sky, providing some shade. The boys had to scatter some scabs in the morning, but none had shown their faces anywhere near Newsie Square for hours, which was a bit odd.

"This stakin' out sure is takin' a while," Specs commented anxiously to Crutchie, gazing past the bars of the gate and into the dark corridor where the wagon always came rolling through. It was completely empty. Nerves tickled his stomach.

"They hafta be out here any second now," Crutchie replied confidently.

Specs wanted them to just come out already. He could barely hold down his stale lunch.

He swallowed hard. "But… What if Weasel was lyin'?"

"He ain't lyin'," Crutchie replied. He seemed so positive, like instead of talking about the wagon they were about to attempt to hijack out on the streets (and probably get pursued by cops for), he was discussing the flavor of cake that he would prefer for his birthday. "They'll be out. Say, where's them Bronx girls?"

"Don't know," Specs answered honestly. He stood on tiptoe and tried to look out from the crowd to check for them. No sign of either of them. Maybe they chickened out, or Jules took Smalls home. Perhaps that'd be better, Specs thought. He knew Smalls was always more adventurous than him, but he would have a pretty difficult time living with himself if she got seriously beaten up, or worse.

A hand poked his shoulder. He twisted around to see the newsgirl herself standing in front of him.

"You ready?" She asked him.

"As I'll ever be," he said, clearly unsure. Smalls' eyes reshaped in concern.

"You're lookin' whiter than a sheet, Specs," she said. "Somethin' wrong?"

Specs began to shake his head, but the straight-on look in Smalls' bright little eyes demanded honesty.

"Yeah. Jus'… All of this. I wanna help out, really, I do, but this jus' seems kinda dangerous."

Chants of "Strike" started to roll through the crowd of boys, dying and flickering back again, like a flame.

"It's gonna be fine," Smalls tried to convince him. "Besides, weren't you the one who spoke up durin' that little rally this mornin'? I thought you'd changed your mind 'bout this whole thing."

The chants quickly grew louder and louder. Specs had to nearly yell over them.

"I guess I'm havin' second thoughts. An' I'm afraid you's…"

The declarations of defiance got way too loud. Smalls stared at Specs for a while in curiosity after he had given up trying to say whatever he meant. Soon he picked up the chant, and then, after a while, so did Smalls. A few of the more limber boys leaped up and clung to the gate. The fire quickly overwhelmed the young news carriers. David, at the front of the impending stampede, squeezed little Les by the shoulders. Elbows were linked. Arms were wrapped around necks. And somewhere amongst the close bodies of the inspired newsies, a skinny, short hand intertwined with a strong, ink-stained one.

The cry soon roared up to its climax. No turning back now.

"It's comin'! Be ready, fellas!" Jack shouted. The black wooden wagon sailed onto the pavement. It was one of a new style, drawn by a shining-coated horse. Newspapers were bundled and stacked upon the rolling platform, a short wall bordering the cargo.

Snyder appeared behind the gate out of seemingly nowhere, followed by a couple of his cronies who helped him out around the Refuge. Maybe a precautionary call from Pulitzer himself. Specs looked back at Smalls. Her hand dug into his with a grip that could kill. She could identify each of the six by name, footstep, and breath stench. But the action of intimidation only enraged most of the other newsboys, bringing their chants to screams and howls.

Oscar and Morris Delancey swaggered out of the World office to open the gate, more annoyed than startled by the racket. Morris jingled the keys out of his pocket and began working on the lock as Oscar slipped on his brass knuckles. The gate opened with a rusty screech.

That's when all hell broke loose.

A cluster of newsies, all moving as one, charged the wagon. With everyone struggling to the front lines, the wagon was rocked back two or three times, stubbornly refusing to tip. The horse trotted back, whining, pushing the cart back into a brick wall.

Some started fleeing from the back of the massive huddle. Smalls turned around. The Delanceys had started grabbing kids by the back of their collars. There was one pushing away and kicking on each hand. Mush slung a backwards punch into the side of the Morris's head, sending him into a daze just long enough for him to wriggle free of his iron grip.

Smalls had her attention caught a second too long. The next thing she new, her arm was being grabbed. She was yanked in by Big George, Snyder's bald and slightly-less-feared little brother. He held her by her front collar, his long nose almost a centimeter away from Smalls' tiny one.

"A little girl, huh? Not what I was expecting, but a troublemaker nonetheless." She coughed, choking on the strong smell of alcohol in his breath. Then, she stomped on his foot. It did barely any good, since she was too light against his firm black loafers to hurt him. He threw her down and she slammed hard into the hot cobblestone, chin first. She groaned in pain as she slowly dragged herself up. She heard boys cry out, but when she looked up, she found many still fighting back. The horse kicked up its front hooves at the commotion.

She scrambled to her feet before George could snag her again and ducked and weaved through the battlefield to return to the wagon. A handful of newsboys still remained there, insistent on its tipping. Smalls flew in and threw her whole weight into it.

It was the straw that broke the camel's back. The wagon whined and came crashing down. Finch ran over and unhooked the horse's reins. The horse quickly clopped back down the corridor. The noise caught the attention of Toby and Rudolf, two more of Snyder's lackeys. They were thin and older but tough and much more agile than some of the other Refuge "caretakers." The newsies scattered. As Smalls sprinted away, a hand caught her back collar once more. She jabbed her elbow back at the person but missed.

"Calm down, Shortie, it's me," Jules hissed. "Keep your head down. Whatever you do, don't look back."

Of course, the first thought that came to Smalls' mind upon hearing that was to look back. About a half a dozen men in blue uniform stood at the mouth of the gate. Law enforcement had showed up already. Jules flicked Smalls' head.

"Ow!"

"Shut up! Don't call attention to yourself." She pushed Smalls toward the corridor the horse just exited through moments ago. It took her a while to get close enough to realize that gate was closed and securely locked. "Damn it. They got us surrounded. We gotta wait for the cops to disperse."

Just then, Smalls heard a wordless yell. The voice made her whip right around. Right under the fire escape of the World office, one of the cops had Specs pinned against the wall.

Smalls didn't have a single thought. She just bolted away from Jules' grip.

"Smalls!" Jules roared with maximum urgency. "Get your ass back here right now!"

Smalls got into the man's face, tearing the officer's hands away from Specs' back. "You ain't takin' him away!"

Specs peeled off of the wall and backed away, not wanting to abandon the girl completely. "Smalls, don't."

"Look here, Kiddies," he said gruffly, grabbing her wrist. "Both of you children are causing this unlawful disturbance. Both of you belong in juvenile detention, and that's just where you'll go."

"Make me," she taunted as she started up the stairs of the fire escape. "Come and get it."

"Little Lady, you're playing around in very dangerous waters," he warned, stomping up after her. She was too fast. First story. Second story. Smalls didn't worry much. She knew she could outrun him easily, but she had to be just slow enough to keep him interested in following her trail.

Specs stood at the bottom, looking up. What would happen when they got to the top? The windows, no doubt, were locked, and the roof heights were dramatically distanced. There'd be nowhere for her to turn.

An image flashed in front of him - a dirty little girl, legs wrapped tightly in newspaper, being dragged up and away by a mysterious man who spoke of a place called the Refuge.

He knew had to do something now. He wouldn't be the coward this time. He wasn't going to be the reason this girl he so deeply cared about ended up in jail.

When she got close to the fourth floor landing, she looked down for a brief moment to see Specs right behind the cop. She stopped running in surprise.

"Hey, Big Guy!" He shouted. When the cop's head turned to face him, heavy eyebrows pushed down over his cold brown eyes, he stepped back a bit in intimidation. The mustache looked familiar…

_Crap_, Specs thought, _that must've been him on the streets._

"Got somethin' you wanna get off your chest, Boy?" He demanded before continuing his chase of Smalls. The girl stayed standing there for a second or two before realizing the cop was on her tail again. She turned and flashed back up the steps.

_Just trust me,_ she yelled at him in her thoughts. _I can outrun 'im. Stay outta this, Specs._

The pair continued up the metal stairs.

Clank. Clank. Clank.

He regained his courage and followed, slowly at first.

Clank. Clank. Clank.

Smalls made it up to the fourth floor landing. She knew she had this in the bag.

Specs was hot in pursuit, never more than two footfalls away.

Clank. Clank. Clank.

All of a sudden, he saw the officer snag the girl by her vest and throw her down to the floor hard. Her face scraped the rusted metal and her head hit the railing with a loud, vibrating "Clang" as she collapsed. The whole world convulsed around her. She moaned, struggling to leap back up as quickly as she could but failing miserably, the pain weighing her down.

Something reached a boiling point in Specs. He grabbed the cop's shoulder, yanked him around to face him with force he didn't know he could have, and slugged him right up the jaw. The cop's head slung back and he grabbed his cheek, not expecting the blow.

_Well, that was illegal_, was the first dumb thought that went through Specs' head.

The second one was_ I don't care._

He tossed another punch to his face, but the cop caught his arm, twisted it, and pushed him back by it. Specs caught his weight by the railing and propelled himself back up only to be hit right in his forehead. Smalls tried again to yank herself to her feet as the boy staggered back.

"Specs…" She tried to call out but was slowed down by her throbbing head. She brought a hand to her forehead. She wasn't about to go under at a time like this.

"Let this be a lesson for you, boy," The cop said. Specs dabbed two fingers around his eye. Was that blood?

The cop slid a pair of shining handcuffs out of his pocket.

"No!" Smalls yelped. She grabbed a rail and began pulling herself back up with what meek means of energy she still had.

Hearing her voice was good enough of a reminder for him. He dodged the officer when he lunged for him and made an attempt to shove him down the stairs. The officer held onto the rails, resisting the boy's strength. Specs swiveled his head to the side for a split second and barked, "Go!"

Smalls was just barely balanced on her feet. She made her way over, putting a majority of her weight on the railing. The the boy in front of her seemed blurred, but she knew him anywhere.

"No," she said.

"Smalls-" Specs continued pushing against the man, pressing on both of his arms and leaning in.

"Can't you trust me?" She asked in a more hushed tone, pushing off of the railing to regain her balance. She was sure she could still lead the cop pretty far away. "Let go. Lemme take care of 'im."

He squinted, giving as much effort as he physically could to holding the cop back. The cop was pushing back more now, finding his footing back up on the step. "Run. Please."

"I'm not gonna leave you," she said.

Specs opened his eyes for a moment and looked at Smalls. Her face clearly had some bad gashes, and she wobbled where she stood, clutching the railing with one hand. Cakes of dirt and small points of red dyed her clothes.

But the scariest part was her eyes. So often he'd take for granted the blinding light that shone through her brightly colored irises. And now he looked into them to find them strained. Misted. Like all the life had been forcefully drained from her struggling eyelids.

He was suddenly thrust forward almost to the floor when the cop shook him off. Smalls conked the railing to get his attention.

"Hey, Fattie! Where'd ya get the shoes, 1850?"

She gave Specs a glance before hobbling up a step, sticking out her tongue at the cop, and blowing a taunting, staccato "Pbbt!"

"I'm just about through with your games, Little Lady," he said. He shoved Specs down onto the ground before reassuming pursuit mode and climbing the steps after a speeding Smalls. He turned for a brief moment to lock the fourth floor landing gate up with one of the many keys he had on an enormous ring in his pocket. "Don't worry. I'll be back. You're both going in tonight." Then he soon disappeared up the stairs and onto the rooftop following a slowly sprinting Smalls.

He sat leaning against the railing, sliding his hands down his face. Traces of blood slashed his palm. Pressing a green bruise on his jaw stabbed at him, but no physical pain bit at him quite as hard as the fact that the officer and Smalls were out of his reach. It clawed at the inside of his chest. She was going to jail. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. No more second chances. No more redemption.

He lifted his head and looked down at the streets below. His friends were being beaten on every concrete square. Snyder's goons yelled. Cops broke out batons. Torn papers fluttered across the battlefield. Jack was nowhere to be seen. Les shrieked. Albert had a black eye visible from the fourth floor. Crutchie was being dragged away by his leg. In that moment, Specs went numb.

They weren't dying out there. In that moment, they were already dead.

…

Smalls ran across the vast roof of the World office building as the sun began to set in the west. She dove left to the fire escape down the side of the building, hopping down the steps as fast as she could. She panted as she descended, hearing the cop only a few steps behind. She was down at the second floor, hidden in an alley of shadows between buildings. The small, white-trimmed window with floral curtains at her side was wide open. So Smalls did what any petite newsgirl would've done. She leaped inside and slammed the window shut behind her, closing the golden latch.

She sprinted down the hall. It was carpeted with purple and had offices lining both white walls. Nobody seemed to inhabit it, until Smalls slammed into a woman who toppled over.

She looked down to see a near orange-haired secretary in wireframe glasses and a pinstripe dress on the floor in front of her. The woman screamed.

Smalls snapped a "Shh" that probably surprised the secretary more than it intimidated her. Either way, she shut up. Smalls looked through the open door of the nearest office. She saw the window to the fire escape just beyond the empty desk. It would empty her out on the open street, far away from the chaos. She burst through the doorway and out through the window, springing down the steps.

When she was finally at the bottom, she felt all air escaping her lungs. The delayed concussion demanded to happen, and the darkness closed in. She grabbed the bottom of the railing with both hands, fighting as hard as she could. She couldn't win. She gave in to the pain, melted to the ground, and blacked out.


	6. Jail, Jules, and Jacobi's

**Author's note:**

_I really try to force KONY to make sense in this chapter. I really do. Cheesy as charged._

_Reviews (even crit) are much appreciated!_

**~CW**

Specs sat alone on the fire escape, watching the sun melt on the skyline. Orange and cherry red hues exploded onto the sky and fell over the battlefield of quickly fleeing newsboys below. He knew he shouldn't have still been there. He knew he should've been back at the Lodging House cowering. That's all he'd ever been good at - sitting around while the world took shots at him.

Specs just couldn't believe this was all happening. He slammed his head back on the rusted iron rails.

The fire escape shook, and something small and wooden rolled towards him and gently bumped his hand.

Specs opened his eyes and picked it up, holding it against the dying light of the sun. It was a pure white rook figurine, a subtle smear of blood staining the bottom. He had no clue how long it had been there, but he knew who was responsible.

No, the Lodging House wasn't where he should've been in that moment. He knew he belonged in Smalls' - positive, ageless, innocent Smalls' - place, locked up in an inhumane cage like an animal. He was the reason she had come to Manhattan in the first place, and now look at all the good it did her.

He closed his fist around the game piece. He needed to at least visit. Maybe scrape up bail. Maybe turn himself in. He didn't know. He jut knew he had to get over there.

The trudge down the stairs was cautious, but nobody noticed as Specs descended and slipped out the gate.

Night soon fell over the busy city as he wandered the streets. Streetlights were being lit along the boulevard. Dapperly dressed men made their commute home after work. A group of women flagged over a carriage. The world around him seemed so calm, so peaceful. It was strange to see such a city after the events that took place at the World office that night. They paid no attention to the working children of this town. They paid no mind to their trivial conflicts. They just demanded their daily news. They didn't care at all who made it happen.

"Caught ya, ya goggled runt," a voice snarled.

Specs turned in a flash. Rudolph stood in front of him, his speckled hands grabbing onto the back of Specs' neck. "Don't think I missed ya back there. Thought ya could get away without sayin' goodbye?"

By sundown, Specs was dragged away to the Refuge with only a painful reminder in his pocket and the few scraps of dignity he had left in his heart.

…

Jules creaked open the antique, glass-paneled door of Jacobi's deli early the next morning.

"Hello?" She called into the dining room. She could clearly hear the polished floorboards squeak under the weight of her worn-soled boots. The sign in the window had said "Open," but as usual this early in the day, it was silent as a morgue. Then, in the corner, she finally found the group of boys she was looking for. They slouched at three tables pushed together next to a dusty old piano. _It might as well be a morgue_, Jules thought, _with them as the lifeless corpses._

At the end of the furthest table, some boy sat up and said something she couldn't hear, raising a glass as if to propose a toast. When she stepped a little closer to the tables, still unnoticed by the others (who had completely ignored the encouragement), she saw it was David.

Jules sucked a sharp breath through her nose and grasped the package she held behind her a little tighter now. The paper crinkled. She couldn't believe she was actually doing this. And yet here she was, fully prepared to fulfill Smalls' stupid request of social grace. She probably ended up crashing at the Lodging House. Jules knew she couldn't be that far.

She approached the group and now heard the dull murmurs that surged around the table. They weren't quite dead. Not yet.

The young Romeo was the first one to look up and see her. "'Mornin' Sweet Cheeks. How's it goin'?"

A friend of his nudged his shoulder, and he grinned cheekily. Jules ignored him and stepped straight behind the boy in the blue and white shirt. His capped head was down and his fingers were tightly bound around his completely full glass of water.

Here was the thing - Jules didn't do formal. Or big apologies. Much less a big, formal apology, gift and all. And sure, she had her veteran friends at the Lodging House that she kept as close as she would sisters, but she sort of liked the air she projected that made most people too intimidated to approach her. At least that way, she was never vulnerable. And now, here she was, tables turned with this… This pent-up, over-coddled schoolboy.

She shook her head the slightest amount. "The things I do for you, Shortie," she muttered in barely a whisper.

Her hand hovered over David's shoulder as she took in a deep breath. Then, she tapped.

"Hey," she greeted. David's head bounced up, and he turned his chair to the side to more easily face her.

He clearly not expecting her presence here. "Hey," he automatically responded, seeming spaced-out. Then he just stared at her quizzically - and yet with no trace of hostility - for a moment. "What are you doing here?"

"I passed by Knobs on the street. He said you guys was here. So, I stopped by."

David's confusedly arched eyebrows showed he knew that wasn't a full answer. Jules rolled her eyes up to the high ceiling, striped with exposed wooden support beams.

"Look. I guess I've been kinda rude these past couple 'a days, and so I…" She exhaled before she could finish the sentence.

_Just spit it out and get it over with,_ she thought to herself.

Then, she finally finished, "I got ya somethin' to say I'm sorry." She thrust the package out towards him, attempting to be passive.

David carefully took the bundle of brown paper and twine with both hands. "…A gift?"

Jules plunged her hands into her pockets. "Call it whatcha will."

He pulled a string and the knot unraveled. "Jules, this really wasn't necessary…" He then peeled the paper away to reveal a well-preserved paperback novel.

"Well, I did it anyway. The boys are always sayin' how ya read a lot," Jules explained, not meeting his eyes. "An' I guess this looked interestin'."

"'A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court.'" He read the title aloud.

Jules snuck a peek back down at him. Did he think it was cheesy? Who was she kidding; this was the dumbest, sappiest thing she'd done in a long time.

She saw him smiling. Granted, the gratitude on his face was muted with the mask of exhaustion that possessed all of the boys at the table so early in the morning after their endeavor last night. But he was smiling, either way, gazing down at the illustration of a knight on his steed on the cover, eyes shyly twinkling with gratitude. "This is… This is great. I mean, I love Mark Twain's work, and I hadn't gotten a chance to read this one yet."

With the slightest bit of hesitation, he smiled back up at her. "Well. Apology accepted. And…" He set the book on the table and stood up, gathering his composure and getting serious. "I'm sorry for how tense I was, and how hostile I must've came off to you."

"Water off a duck," she reassured him, still a tinge shaken but relieved by the fact he actually accepted it so well.

He picked the book back up. "But really, thank you so much. This is so nice. I heard this one's a new classic."

Jules replied with a casual "Don't mention it, Jacobs." She quickly made her way over to a chair a pretty good distance from the others and flagged over the waiter. "'Ey, can I getta glass 'a seltzer over here?"

Just then, a girl about her age (maybe a year older?) with swirling brown locks and a colorfully striped dress floated into the room with a crisp, new newspaper in her clutch. Her heels clanked loudly against the floor, and the echo filled the nearly empty room. Jules was sitting just too far to hear her words clearly, but she was obviously ecstatic about something. She talked to the boys, and after something that clearly cheered them up, Albert got up and snatched the paper right out of her hands. A few others stood up and huddled around it before Race took it away, a look of awe stretching his face. Then, just loud enough for Jules to hear it, he hollered: "Can you believe it, boys? We's in the papes!"

The strike made the paper? Had she heard right? She scooted a bit closer to the newsboys that sat at her table, trying to hear the conversation.

"Not just in the papes," David added enthusiastically, standing next to Race as he read the article and pointing. "Front page! Above the fold!"

"So what?" Finch questioned from his seat. "We got a little attention. What good is it gonna do us?"

"Ya don't get it at all, do ya?" Race walked over to him and slammed the paper down in front of him. "When you's in the papes, you's famous. And when you's famous, you get whatever your scummy little heart desiyahs. The world is yer erster!"

There was some dispute about the pronunciation of the word "oyster." Jules momentarily tuned out.

"You get the point!" Race shouted. "We's the kings of New York!"

"We're on top of the world!" A voice squeaked. Jules whipped her head around to see little Les, his arm in a sling, leap up onto the table jingling two spoons in his hand. She didn't even notice he was there. "This calls for a celebration!"

This was followed by a couple "ain't-that-adorable" kind of laughs and "aw"s.

"I mean it, fellas!" He piped up. "Come on, David, play somethin'!"

David shook his head with a big grin. "Alright, Buddy." He turned and sat at the wooden piano that faced the wall and began playing a bright, energetic melody, both hands skillfully prancing across the keys. The other boys were impressed and immediately began clapping along.

Les jumped off of the table and approached a distracted Katherine. He tugged on her sleeve, and when she looked down, he asked, "Uh, Miss, can I have this dance?"

Jules smirked. A natural born charmer. How were he and David related again?

Katherine laughed and nodded. The two clasped hands and began twirling across the floor. Race, looking tipsy on the feeling of fame, took Les's previous position on top of the table.

"'Ey, fellas, getta load of this!" He began dancing himself, tapping along to the quick rhythm of the song.

"Uh, Race, what's in those cigars 'a yours?," Finch joked, still sitting.

"Come on, have some fun, wouldja?" Jojo encouraged, hopping up with Race, a broomstick in his hand. He stomped the pole to the tabletop twice before attempting to tap along himself.

"That's what I'm talkin' bout," Race said, keeping the clap alive.

This continued for a while, and soon nearly all of the boys were on the floor or up on tables. Katherine had hiked up her skirt and joined the crew. Jules sat and watched. Everyone laughed and shouted and danced and made complete fools out of themselves. They still looked like they were having the time of their life; just a bunch of newsboys starting a hootenanny in a deli at seven in the morning.

David played on across the room for what seemed like days. He never left his spot at the piano bench, but he was having just as much fun as the others, looking back at his friends every so often with a huge grin. He watched them dance about with a tinge of pride in his heart. He transitioned from one piece he learned from his piano tutor to another with a few simple chords. At one point, he noticed Jules. She just sat there, observing. Maybe even she didn't even note it herself, but her lips were cinched the tiniest bit, in amusement if nothing more. It was strange. It almost seemed like it wasn't her own face.

"Jules!" He called over the music and chatter and laughter. She thrust her guard back up, automatically dropped signs of any emotion besides an artificial disdain for the foolish boys and met his eyes.

David twitched his head over to the side a couple of times. _What_, Jules thought,_is he having a stroke?_

She shook her head and shrugged to show she didn't understand. David pulled a hand away from the keyboard and pointed over to the group. He mouthed, "Go ahead."

Jules didn't want to just jump in. She was an outsider here. She made a throat-cutting gesture. This wasn't her celebration.

David mouthed something with an expression that made it look like a casual "Come on!"

Jules looked to the center of the dining room. The boys were in a close circle, loudly cheering on someone. She couldn't see who. She looked back at David, who had already continued focusing on playing, before slowly standing up and attempting to nonchalantly slip into the crowd. Each step felt out of place.

Finally, she looked over the short Romeo's shoulder. Katherine stood in the center of the circle, clicking her heels against the glossy pine floor to the rhythm of the song, kicking up high and giggling at herself. The boys called out as if a girl who could dance was the most impressive thing they'd seen in their lives. Jules offered a small piece of applause to be polite. Romeo turned around in an instant.

"Decided to join us, eh?" He slipped behind her and pushed her forward.

"Come on, Jules, whatcha got?" One boy called.

"Oh-ho no, I'm good." She tried to resist, attempting to pull Romeo's arm away. This was only greeted with more encouragement. "I don't dance," she argued.

Romeo continued to push her to the center. His hand slipped down to her hip. She leaped forward.

"Whaddya think you're doin'?" She grumbled back at him. She looked around and found herself at the center of the circle. The boys were hushed now, and even the piano music was reduced to a simple, one-handed melody.

"Gettin' ya center stage," he replied with a crooked grin.

Jules had the whole room's attention now. Thanks a bunch, David. I go out and get you a nice book by your favorite author and you throw my dancing skills at the mercy of a gang of cynical, know-nothing newsboys.

"Jules."

The newsgirl looked up to see Katherine standing in front of her, standing politely with an encouraging smile. "Throw 'em a bone. Just follow my lead." She stomped forward a few times in time with the music. Then she clicked her heels together and clapped.

Jules waited for her to finish. Then she looked to the ground and stepped in front of herself, her boots making a dull and muted yet loud sound against the floor. The music picked back up. She executed a shuffle or two, like she saw Race do earlier. A heel dig. Another shuffle. She reached down and planted her hands on the ground, pushing her body up into her best headstand. She could hear Ms. Tulipson scolding her and Smalls for exercising "unladylike behavior" in her head.

But then, she could hear the astonished calls from the crowd of newsies in her ears. It was amazing. She grounded herself once again and stepped back out to the outskirts of the circle.

Katherine nodded proudly with a hand on her hip before starting a tap again. Then she grabbed the bottom of her heeled boot and lifted her leg all the way up to the sky. The boys roared.

Jules scoffed through her nose and stepped back forward. She wasn't about to be upstaged by some upper-class know-it-all.

"The stage for a second?" She requested. Then she shuffled out her right foot, did the same for the left, kicked up a leg and slid down into a split. Claps and hoots followed. She grinned slyly as she dragged herself back up. That's just how it's done in the Bronx.

Katherine was already tapping again, creating her own slow-paced percussion pattern. Jules joined in, stabbing the ground with her heels. They stayed in one spot, standing parallel, daring the other to pick up the pace. First Katherine sped up. Then Jules. Then Katherine. Then Jules.

A clap picked up once more among the boys. They took sides, chanting names.

Finally, Jules was slamming down at almost double Katherine's speed. She ceased with a single solid stomp and looked up from the floor. Katherine's eyes were wide.

"Well… wow. Look at you!" She commented as the boys brought their attention elsewhere in the room. "That's some talent you got there!"

Jules thought of her Lodging House friends sneaking into the local vaudeville theater to catch a few mind-blowing dance performances when they were younger. A smile cracked back onto her lips. Miss Tulipson would blow her top over that, too.

"Katherine, right?"

The girl nodded. "Right."

"Thanks."

…

"You're welcome, Shortie." A young Jules with her neck wrapped in a scarf stood in front of Smalls. A flurry wind picked up her golden hair. "Jus' try not ta drink all the cocoa in one shot."

Cocoa? What cocoa?

Smalls felt a warm ceramic mug between her hands shortly after, as if it has magically materialized. The heat somehow stretched up her arms and into her chest, sending warm shivers through her entire body. She looked back up at Jules, who was now opening the snow-glazed door of the Lodging House with a fingerless-gloved hand.

When the door swung out, Smalls didn't hear the usual teasing from Snaps, yelling from Ruby, or laughing from Patty that usually echoed from the floor above. She heard the whipping sound of a leather belt being used for torment, the shouting of middle-aged men, and the hushed whimpering of children. This wasn't the Lodging House. And yet the soundtrack was familiar

Jules smiled as if everything was normal, gesturing into the door. Nothing made sense. Smalls couldn't see anything past the empty desk in the lobby and the only object set on top of it- a pair of cracked lenses in a round, mangled pair of glasses.

"Jules?" She looked back up to see Snyder standing in the spot where her friend once was, wearing the exact same clothes, cap, gloves, and all. Wait, what?

The sound of a carriage bumping down the road interrupted the scene, and all of a sudden, a shush of ice slipped off of the Refuge roof several stories above and fell directly on Smalls. She collapsed to the ground.

When she opened her eyes, she found she had been asleep on the side of the street. Her soaking clothes clung to her body in the humid morning, and she could only guess that the wagon that shortly rolled past her had splashed water from a nearby puddle onto her. The sun had just risen past purple clouds.

The world around her was out of focus in all aspects, and it took her a minute to sit up and remember what had happened the night before. She had passed out in that alley that was now a stone's throw behind her. She somehow rolled out here. She must've slept through some rain. And she wasn't locked up. Not in jail. Not in the Refuge.

She brought a hand up to her head. Her hat. Where was her hat?

She patted the rest of her body, checking that she hadn't gotten mugged in the night. She hadn't. Good.

"Anyone else you'd recognize?" She heard a vaguely familiar voice ask. She slowly turned to see a pair of cops crossing the street.

"There's this kid with a cigar and red cap. Curly hair. Maybe… eighteen? And then there's a short girl with a green cap. Dirty. Should have big ol' scars on her face. Can't miss her."

Smalls immedietley scrambled to her feet and ducked into the alley before either of the officers noticed her. They got to the other side of the street and turned left without the tiniest bit of suspicion.

"And then there's this little squirt in a bowler hat and his Jewish brother…"

Small let out a sigh, a hand on her pounding heart. She realized it might be best for her to hide out for a while.

A cool breeze picked up, and ripped newspapers caressed her feet. She didn't see the end of the scene. Maybe they all got hauled away.

Maybe Specs did. She did what she did to save him, but who knows what could've happened to him? Maybe the cop did come back for him and -

No. He couldn't have.

But when she told herself that, she could only hear the words in his voice.

She knew Specs was stronger than his demeanor revealed those years ago. But his heart was pure and soft.

Sadly, so was Smalls', and the thought that Russell was being held anywhere only made it ache. But she couldn't know for sure.

She sank to the ground with a sigh. She couldn't show her face out on the streets until the heat cooled off. She just had to wait it out.

…

"Any requests?" Asked a youthful worker in a plaid suit. He had come in, introduced himself as a waiter at Jacobi's, and insisted on playing for their only customers. He sat at the plush piano bench, fingers curled over the keys.

"Anything fast," David answered as he headed towards the main floor. A bright tune picked back up with a swinging tempo.

A circle reformed. Two at a time, newsies jumped into the center and showed off. First Jojo and Albert with their broomstick brides. Then Les and Finch were pushed in. Jules got high off the energy in the room, and this time, when she was tapped on the back, she cartwheeled into the center. Cheers surged through the circle.

Jules' head swiveled in an instant upon hearing someone step closer. When she did, the first thing she saw was a eager Romeo sliding up to her.

"Say, how's about a dance with my lovely Jules-iette?"

Jules had to admit she was a tiny bit glad to see this thirteen-year-old pain in the ass offering her a bent arm.

"Fine," she relented with a shrug and maybe even a sideways smile.

She grabbed Romeo's hand and set a hand on his shoulder, tango-style. He followed, nodding cockily.

"Ah, now this is more like it, Gorgeous."

Jules rolled her eyes and the two began a quick-paced foxtrot around the inside of the circle. After a couple counts of eight, she whipped her arm out and twirled Romeo as a gentleman ballroom dancer would his elegant lady. He struck a feminine pose. She laughed and reeled him back in for another brief foxtrot.

Finally, she whispered something into Romeo's ear and he nodded. She stopped dancing and Romeo leapt up into her arms, one holding right under his shoulder and one hanging his leg passé-d against the other. He reached forward with one arm as if he were a majestic deity.

Jules, the complete foreigner, stood confidently in the center. It was hard for David to recognize her now. The girl of stone looked around at the clapping newsboys with a wide, proud grin, clear as day. She was lit up like a revived candle, and collective warmth was shared everywhere in the room.

He barely noticed when the music cut out.

"Pardon me!"

All eyes turned to the man at the piano. Mike stood by him as he waved some cap in the air.

"This gentleman has announced a lost item. Does this belong to anybody?"

Jules froze and dropped Romeo on the floor.

"Gah!"

"Sorry," she said, eyes glued to the green cap in the man's hand. "Where the hell didja find that?" Though her tone showed an attempt at anger, it was clear she sounded more scared than anything else.

The newsboys cleared the area between her and Mike as she made her way over.

"It was out on the sidewalk," he explained. "I dunno how it got there. Why, does it look familiar?"

"_Does it look familiar,"_ she muttered, taking it from the man at the piano. "It's Smalls'. Isn't she back at the Lodging House?"

"No. Haven't seen 'er anywhere," he admitted.

She looked closely on the back. There was the tear in the corduroy that had always been there. Yep, it was Smalls' all right.

"Thanks, Mike," she replied, impliedly relieving him from attention. He nodded and joined in with the others, who were already back into separate conversations.

Jules walked to toward the nearest window. She crossed her arms and laid them on the bottom of the wooden frame. Through the old, stained glass, it was easy to see that the pavement was soaked dark. If it rained last night… why didn't she come in? Or was she locked up in jail?

Shortie? In jail?

She had no clue where she was supposed to start looking. Some responsible big sister she was turning out to be.

She knew she was being watched. Someone was probably right over her shoulder, wondering who this blonde creep was who just performed a whole acrobatics routine before suddenly turning over here to sulk. She didn't really care. It was probably bubbly Katherine, trying to comfort, or childish Romeo, trying to make drama over the barely-bruises she caused him.

But eventually, curiosity tugged at her like a little kid on a mother's skirt. Her eyes glanced up to the reflection of a boy not too far away from her. He was just saying something at that exact moment.

"Hey, Jules, are you okay?"

David.

She turned.

"Uh-huh."

Okay, he deserved _a little _more than that.

"I guess I'm jus' worried about Smalls."

"She's…_missing, _missing?" He asked.

Jules' eyes trailed back down to the hat for a split second. "Yeah. Last I saw last night, she was teasin' some cop."

"Oh, God," he said with real concern. "Do you think they could've actually caught her?"

Jules just shrugged. She honestly had no clue.

David knew he wasn't helping the situation at all.

"I'm sure she'll turn up soon," he offered.

Jules acknowledged the attempt at optimism, but something behind her eyes was losing focus, fixed on containing her emotions.

"Okay, listen," he said in a new tone, "In the five minutes it took me to find Les after he fled, I was a bit of a wreck. Ask anyone."

An eavesdropping Buttons called, "A bit? You'da thought the guy had left a thousand bucks in 'is other pants."

David gestured with a "See what I mean?" expression. "I know it doesn't really relate, and I don't really know Smalls that well, but what I guess I'm trying to say is that I might know a bit more about how you're really feeling than anyone else here."

Jules softened her grip on the cap. He was repeatedly trying to reach out to her, even after the episode the day before. The forgiveness was refreshing, and he just seemed so genuine.

"I appreciate it," she said. "I'll probably go out an' look for 'er in a little while now. Might wanna wait. Cops might recognize me."

"We're wanted criminals now, you know?" David replied, half jokingly. "The halt of a whole company, destruction of property…"

"Oh yeah, we're a force to contend with," she joked back. "A gang of angry kids with no money ripping up newspapers. Hide your families. No one is safe."

This time when Jules used sarcasm, David laughed.

"I could join you," He said. "Finding Smalls, I mean."

"That'd be great," She replied. "Really. Thank you."

He shrugged. "Water off a duck."


	7. Yesterday's Paper

_SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!_

"Rise an' shine, shrimps!" Snyder yelled, jabbing the ceiling of the floor directly below with a walking stick.

Specs awoke with a start, momentarily forgetting where he was. He was scrunched in a lower bunk, clutching his thin sheets close to his body. Facing him, leaning on the other headboard of the mattress was a sleeping, much younger boy with tan skin and dark hair who everyone called Tim. He didn't talk much. At least, he hadn't since Specs had gotten here. Sun-faded and peeling wallpaper covered the walls, from the ceiling to the scuffed wooden floor. They were striped - wait a second. No, it wasn't striped. Marching patterns of ants lined the right wall. A vague stench of sweat on unwashed clothes spread around the room. There were two rows of three white-sheeted bunk beds crammed into the stuffy dormitory (with barely enough room to walk between them), each currently inhabiting two to four boys.

"Hey, whaddya know?" One boy asked. Specs' head twitched up to a shaggy black-haired boy in the parallel upper bunk. He seemed and sounded about sixteen, though his face looked dark and somewhat grim with age. He had a bad cut on his lower lip. His arms were crossed over the short rail and he leaned forward, sizing Specs up. "Barely noticed we got a _new guy."_

Specs withheld a shudder.

"First time 'ere?" The boy prodded between drags of a burnt cigarette butt. He, like all of the other boys, was in loose-fitting white unitard pajamas.

"Jus' look at 'im! You can tell he's a softie," Another ridiculed from the bunk to his right. He was ginger-haired with more freckles than plain skin. Specs instinctively tried to sit up a little taller. "'Ey, Sam, five of 'em smokes is talkin' ta me," The boy said.

"Oh yeah?" Sam asked, releasing a grey wisp into the air out of the corner of his mouth. "What's they sayin'?"

"He's gonna crack before sundown. Cryin' for 'is mom."

"I dunno, Red, took a lot to get these in past Spider," He contemplated. "Your pillow's seemin' awfully chatty this mornin'. It says he'll make it to day three."

"Fine. Your loss," Red said, turning to immediately get into an argument with the kid next to him for hogging the bed.

"Was it the strike?" Sam asked a completely silent Specs.

"Yeah," He answered.

"So, a newsie, huh?" Sam casually leaned back from his hunched position. "I used to do that when I was a kid. We jus' got anudda one fresh from the strike too." He flicked his cigarette hand to the side. "Little further down the line. The crip."

Specs tried to lean out into the aisle and sure enough, there was a wooden crutch under a bed not too far away, with the pathetic shreds of a tattered "STRI" banner still attached. But there was no movement from the cot beside it.

"Poor guy," Sam reflected, shaking his head. "Snyder cut 'im up real bad." He turned his head back to Specs. "Know 'im?"

Specs nodded. Without another word, he slowly climbed out of the bunk and made his way down the cramped aisle, accompanied by the groans of a dozen or so waking boys.

_"And keep it quiet!" _Snyder shouted, jabbing the ceiling once more. Specs nearly jumped. The others hushed, still chattering softly amongst each other.

Finally, he passed by his friend's bunkmate as he rose and walked over to a buddy further down the line. A weak figure laid in the nearby bed crumpled inward, facing the wall. Bruises nearly painted the arms he had placed in front of his face. Other than that, Specs couldn't see anything more than his mess of blonde hair and stretched out, old pajamas.

"Crutchie," Specs called in a gentle whisper.

No response.

"'Ey, Crutchie, it's me," He tried again.

"...Me who?" Crutchie mumbled carelessly, nuzzling his face into the mattress.

Concern crept into Specs' voice. "Come on, Crutchie. It's ya friend, Specs."

"Specs," Crutchie repeated numbly. Then, with a tired slur: "What... what are you doin' here?"

The boy crouched down by the other's side. "Got pulled in after last night. The wagons...Please tell me ya remember."

"Of course I do," Crutchie replied. Then he was silent.

"You... you don't look so good, Crutch," Specs told him, laying a hand on his back. Crutchie immediately tensed, cinching up his shoulders and scaring Specs' hand away. Then, he slowly began turning over, wincing with every other movement. The effort he put in was painful to watch. His face and neck were sheets of ice, stained by the purpled, poisoned skin inflating around his right eye and a slash of crusting brown blood across his left cheek. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see his friend's reaction.

"That Snyder guy's a real sweetie, ain't he?" He croaked out with a weak twitch at the corner of his mouth that died quickly.

"Oh, hell..." Specs tried to keep from cringing.

"Yeah, I know, an' I look like it too," Crutchie replied. "But I'll be okay. Jus' gimme a sec or two to wake up a bit..."

"You're not okay," Specs said. "This... this ain't right. Who does Snyder think he is?"

"Aw, wah wah, the gimp gotta boo-boo!"

Specs stood straight up to face the scrawny boy in the bunk above. His rib cage easily showed through his clothes. He sat cross-legged, etching some letters into the wooden rails of his bunk with an iron nail. "News flash, Window Face: No one gives a damn about you anymore. We're jus' yesterday's paper, crumpled up an' left for dead."

"Ricky," Sam warned from across the room. "Let's try not to depress New Guy already."

"New Guy, Shmew Guy, he's gonna learn sooner or later," Ricky replied with a passive wave. Then, he momentarily abandoned the nail and faced Specs dead-on. "It's jus' the truth. Even old Teddy was fooled when he came ta visit. But we all know it. The more kids Snyder keeps, the bigger his chunk of change from the city. He don't care if they really belong here or not. I been here for amost a year now for _stealin' from a bakery_. There's no real sentence, even if it's court-ordered. You's trapped in here 'til ya brain rots out. Then, when you finally lose it, they toss you back out onta the streets stripped of everything."

"Rick!" Sam shouted.

"Oh, don't you go callin' bull, Sam, you know that happened ta Herbie!"

Specs tried to ignore them out and crouched down once more to address Crutchie, whose eyes were still glued shut.

"Don't listen ta 'em," Specs said. "The strike's gotta wrap up soon. Our boys'll win. They gotta let us out then."

"Sure, but..." Crutchie took in a large breath before opening his eyes. They glistened with sorrow. He shook his head. "Y-ya... ya didn't hear Jack!"

"Jack?"

"He tried ta come in last night." Crutchie gestured to the window at the end of the aisle, displaying the sun rising over the awakening city. "On the escape. Kept poundin' on the glass. Everyone ignored him, an'..."

His grime-soaked hands curled up into fists. His eyes squinted in frustration.

"I... I couldn't make it over there. I tried to. I swear I did. But everythin' hurt. Turned ta see him on 'is way out, though. By the look on his face," He sighed and loosened back up. "You could tell that we were absolutely screwed."

Specs glanced back up at Sam, who was failing to pacify a worked-up Ricky.

"It's too early for this, Rick!"

"Oh, come now, facts are facts! The newsie deserved a truth for once!"

Crutchie closed his eyes once more; trying to block out the pain, trying to block out the words.

"This is the city's human dumpster, an' you know it!"

"Don't talk like that!" Sam called back. "You're scarin' the crip!"

__"Stop it, both of you!" Specs yelled.

_"I told you kids to shut up!" _Snyder roared._ "I'm comin' up there!"_

Crutchie's nose went back into his pillow. He looked like he wanted to hide under the covers and just disappear.

_We're jus' yesterday's paper, crumpled up and left for dead._

_That's it, _Specs thought. _Guess I'm on my own now. _Even his most encouraging friend's spirits seemed to be shattered like glass, and how was _he_ supposed to put faith back into the most optimistic guy he knew?

"In short, welcome to hell!" Ricky announced loud and clear just to spite Sam. "Enjoy your stay!"

**...**

When Katherine opened the door to Medda's dark theater and led them back out onto the streets, the sun was high in the bright sky, and the boulevard was as busy as ever. Jack wrung his apron in his hands, feeling the warm rays of the late-morning sun on his bare shoulders, and sighed. Katherine, to his right, gave him a silent glance of uncertainty, almost to ask, "Are you okay?" He barely saw her before he nodded with a solid glare forward. His boys were waiting for him in "Newsies Square," as they called it, where many of them met up midway through a day of paper-peddling to exchange tips on better selling spots or tourist flow. Now he just had to face them again after taking off last night.

"We were all worried sick 'bout you, Jack," David said.

"I know," Jack replied. "But they might get ticked about me runnin' out and bein' gone so long. As soon as they figure out my head isn't on Joe's silver platter, they'll want it on theirs."

Katherine patted Jack on the back. "They'll be plenty glad to see you. Trust me."

The newsies swarmed the middle of the square, centered around the copper figure of Horace Greeley atop a hot concrete pedestal.

Les bolted ahead towards the statue. David reached out and was about to chase after him, but Jack set a hand on his friend's arm.

"Hey guys!" Les leapt up onto the platform, pointing to the three others. "Captain Jack's back!"

Almost all heads snapped around, and the boys started approaching from every angle.

"Jack?"

"We thought ya ditched us!"

"The hell were ya, Buddy?"

"He came back!"

"What happened?"

"I knew he weren't gone for good!"

Elmer struggled his way directly in front of Jack, who was being peppered with questions, most of them he just ignored altogether. "Glad you're back," he said with a pat on his shoulder. "Where were ya? You wasn't at the Refuge, were you?"

"Not locked up," he answered. Kind of eager to change the subject, he continued: "But Crutchie is. Think I saw Specs in there too. They musta caught them last night"

The other newsies heard this and made hushed reactions. Elmer's enthusiasm transformed to frustration. "Bastards."

"We'll finda way to get 'em," Jack assured him. "But for now, we gotta plan our next stage of attack. Gimme a little time. Tell the boys to meet me in front 'a the Lodgin' House in fifteen. Dave and I'll figure somethin' out by then."

Elmer nodded. "You heard the guy, give 'em some time!" He called to the others as he walked away. "Lodging House in fifteen!"

"Anymore bright ideas?" David asked, turning to Jack, in a strange tone that made it seem like he didn't really need an answer. Katherine and the boys were reluctantly dispersing.

"Somethin' tells me you've already got one," Jack replied.

David nodded. "But not without your help. The rally we talked about earlier in the strike?" He gestured to the theatre. "We can hold it right there, in Medda's, with newsies from all over. The papes got us attention, and..."

"An' even a stubborn ass like Spot Conlon's gotta turn 'is head," Jack finished, catching onto the plan. "An' he'll bring the rest of Brooklyn with 'im."

"And with Brooklyn comes the rest of New York," David agreed. "It needs to happen as soon as possible, while we still have the upper hand. Maybe tomorrow. I'm just not too sure how we can get the word out so quickly."

"Leave that to me," Jack insisted. "When we round up the boys, I'll send 'em out again."

"Come on, David."

A totally serious Jules walked up to David from behind and patted his shoulder aggressively.

"What? Where?" He asked.

"Outta here," Jules simply answered, almost like a command. "I'm tryin' ta be patient, but I jus' can't stand sittin' in this sty for another damn second. I need to get out there an' look for Smalls before somethin' happens to 'er. You comin'?"

Davey glanced almost apologetically at Jack, who was pretty confused. Did they make up? What happened to Smalls? And Davey wasn't afraid of Jules... was he?

"Listen, Jules, Jack and I just need to go over a couple of things-"

Jules turned, noting the boy's presence for the first time. She nodded casually in acknowledgement. "Ah. Kelly. So you didn't desert us after all."

"Yeah," he replied. "I didn't." This only added to the confusion. Jules was actually starting to talk like part of the crew. Jack was beginning to feel like he missed a lot in twelve hours.

Jules raised an eyebrow at the cold edge on his answer, but dropped it when addressing David again. "Okay, suit yourself, but I'm goin' with or without you. She can only be so many places, right? So I gotta hit juvy jus' in case, and probably the..."

She faltered, watching a half-grin spread on David's face, his eyes fixed somewhere just behind her head. She sighed. "Okay, look here, Wise Guy, I don't need you goin' off on-"

"Julia Howell!" A voice right next to her ear declared in an almost demonically distorted, low voice.

Jules' heart leaped and she spun around. "Ah! Son of a-" She had to look down to find the source of trouble.

She saw a hat-less Smalls looking back up at her, clearing her throat from the racking of producing such a startling sound.

"I take it you missed me?" She asked.

"Smalls, you little- gah!" She yelled, exasperated. "Jesus, you dummy! Where were you? Never mind that, just...Oh my God, you're such a stupid kid."

"Yeah," Smalls assessed. "You missed me."

"Dear God..." Jules hugged Smalls so hard she could've suffocated. "Never ever do that again, you retarded little brat. Ever."

"I'm sorry, okay?" Smalls said as she pulled away, laughing the subtlest amount. "Don't hafta treat me like a kid. I'm fine."

"Great." Jack clapped his hands, turning away. "You two are happily reunited. Now if you'll excuse me an' Dave, we got some things ta discuss."

"Wait. Specs."

Jack turned. "What about 'im?"

Smalls just looked at him. It was a glance with a glimmer of pleading, with a glimmer of hope.

"Oh, Kid..." Jack suddenly said in realization, scratching his head through his cap.

Jules put her hand on Smalls' back from behind. "He'll be back."

Smalls stepped forward, dragging away Jules' touch. She knew something was wrong. "I don't need that. Jus' tell me. Right now."

David exchanged a brief look with Jack. "Jack says he saw him last night. At the Refuge."

Smalls had to will herself to keep from trembling. This couldn't be real. She just couldn't imagine... "_Specs?_ In the _Refuge_?"

"He hadn't gotten beaten or anything," David assured her, glancing again at Jack for validation. He shook his head.

"Why didn't you do somethin'?" Smalls asked. "You were there, Kelly! You coulda broken 'im out."

"I would've if I could've," Jack said, more bitter than regretful. "Specs is my friend too, and even Crutchie was in there. But it's jus' not that simple."

Smalls opened her mouth to counter but decided against it. Jack had been through the Refuge too, and probably for much longer than the few weeks that she had. His escape wasn't nearly as easy as Smalls' was, but he knew exactly what he was talking about.

David broke the silence. "They're both major members of the team," He said. "Two of the most spirited. But we have to keep moving without them. We'll win them back. You'll see."

Smalls nodded understandingly, though the image just didn't fit right in her head. She just had never thought to associate sweet, clownish Specs with the hellhole of her childhood.

Jules set a hand on Smalls' shoulder. "Shortie, come on. The boys have 'things to discuss'."

Smalls wanted to snap. Wanted to give just a little bit of defiance. Wanted to sit Jules down and tell her everything bouncing around in her head and demand a bit of patience. But Jules just didn't understand. She wouldn't understand the harmful environment of the Refuge. She wouldn't understand the effect it had on people.

She would never understand how much poor Specs meant to Smalls in this moment.

"Okay," She relented.

Jules gave a subtle glance of gratitude at David that said "Thank you thank you thank you that could've gone a hell of a lot more worse."

Little did she know the plan Smalls was beginning to formulate in her head.


End file.
